Chapter 143 Gotcha

Chapter 143 Gotcha
Elma's POV

I'd been at it for three nights straight, buried in public records and permit filings, looking for anything that might give me an actual advantage instead of just petty satisfaction.

Most of what I found was clean. Adrian ran a tight operation which only made me angrier, honestly, because it meant I had to work harder than I wanted to just to find a single flaw in him.
But then I came across the Wexford building. It didn't look like much at first glance, it was just another property in his portfolio. Looked older and less profitable than most of his current projects. But the name attached to the original permit filing caught my attention….Cole Development, dated over thirty years ago. His father's company, before Adrian had ever taken over anything.

I pulled the full history, and there it was, buried under decades of amendments and renewals….an unresolved structural violation from the original construction. It was never properly closed out, quietly grandfathered in through a loophole nobody had bothered to challenge because nobody had ever needed to.
The building had been operating for three decades on paperwork that if scrutinized properly, wouldn't hold up.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen….Gotcha.
I didn't hesitate, I found the safety inspector's direct line first, then the reporter who'd covered our rivalry twice already this year, always hungry for anything with his name attached to it. I made both calls within the hour, keeping my voice professional, factual and careful not to sound like I had any personal stake in either conversation.
I smiled, hanging up on the second call.

Two days later, I sat in my kitchen with a cup of coffee, watching the morning business segment on the TV.
"Breaking this morning, questions are being raised over the safety compliance of the Wexford building,”
I raised my head, turning my attention to the TV
“a property owned by Cole Enterprises and originally developed by the late Richard Cole over three decades ago." The anchor continued. "City inspectors confirm an unresolved structural violation dating back to the original construction, raising concerns about the building's current occupancy status."

They cut to a photo of the building, then briefly to file footage of Adrian at some ribbon-cutting event months earlier, smiling, confident and unaware of what was coming.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, watching his face on the screen, telling myself the small, uncomfortable twist in my stomach was satisfaction.

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I unlocked my door with a bag of groceries balanced against my hip, already thinking about putting my feet up and watching whatever mindless show was on television tonight. I'd had a good day which felt rare lately. “Hmm…”
Today was my day off, I get to enjoy Adrian's problem.

I stepped into my living room, kicking the door shut. I stopped cold when I turned around.
Adrian sat on my couch, his legs crossed, one arm draped along the back cushion, staring at the blank television screen like he'd been waiting there for hours. His expression gave nothing away.

The grocery bag slipped in my grip. "How did you get in here?"
His eyes finally moved to me. I'd seen Adrian irritated before, seen him smug, even seen him cold…I'd never seen him look at me like this.
"Adrian." I set the bag down on the counter, my sharp tone covering the unease climbing up my spine. "I asked you a question."
"Locks aren't as complicated as people think." He said without any real interest, like the question bored him. "Neither are doormen, if you tip them well enough."

"You bribed my doorman." I frowned. He was definitely getting fired.
"I persuaded him." He stood, unhurried, and the room, his presence filling up the space. "You must be so pleased with yourself." He chuckled.
I lifted my chin, forcing my voice to stay even despite my pulse picking up. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't." His voice boomed in the living room. "Don't stand there and pretend you don't know exactly what you did."

I could have backed down. Some part of me even considered it, watching the tightness in his jaw and the stillness of his hands at his sides like he was holding something back by sheer force of will.
But no… The corner of my mouth twitched, some old, stubborn instinct rising to meet him. "You mean the Wexford building?" I crossed my arms. "I made a call, Adrian. What the inspectors found was already there, I didn't fabricate a single thing." I shrugged.
"You knew exactly what you were doing when you made that call."

"I know you outbid me on Hendricks without blinking." I held his gaze, refusing to back down. "I know you've undercut three of my deals this year. Don't come into my apartment acting wounded because I finally hit back."
He didn't respond right away. He crossed the room slowly instead.
"That building," he said, stopping a few feet from me. "was the last thing my father built before he died."

The words landed somewhere I hadn't braced for. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, the confident retort I'd been ready to fire off dying in my throat.

"The last permit with his name actually on it," he continued, shaking his head. "I don't develop it, I don't touch it. I've kept it exactly as it was for eleven years, because it's the only thing left with his handwriting on the original blueprints."
I opened my mouth again but I still couldn't make myself say a thing.
"Do you understand that?" he asked. "Do you understand what it means to watch the last piece of your father turned into a headline? Into a punchline on the morning news?"

I stared at him, my chest tightening. I hadn't known. I told myself that over and over, hadn't known, couldn't have known, but the excuse felt stupid every second his eyes stayed locked on mine.
"I didn't know," I said finally, my voice smaller than I meant it to be.
"You didn't ask." He took another step, closing the last of the distance between us.
I found myself backing up until my shoulders hit the wall behind me and there was nowhere to go. "You saw a weakness and you used it. That's exactly what I did to you, Elma. The only difference is I never went after something that would actually break you."

Guilt sat heavily in my chest. I almost said I was sorry but my pride caught up with me. I lifted my chin instead. "I'm not sorry," I said, even as the words tasted wrong leaving my mouth. "You started this. Every deal you've stolen from me…"
"I started a business rivalry." His hand came up, catching my chin, tilting my face toward his. "You made it personal."
I swallowed hard, refusing to look away first. "Maybe you shouldn't have made yourself such an easy target," I scoffed.

His grip tightened, stealing the breath from my lungs. "You're going to regret this," he said quietly. "I'm not going to hurt your company. I'm going to make sure you understand exactly what it feels like to have something that matters to you turned into a weapon."
I glared at him. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise." His eyes dropped briefly to my lips before returning back to my eyes. The air between us shifted into something I refused to name, it had nothing to do with the anger and everything to do with how close he was standing with his hand still against my jaw.
"I don't make threats I don't intend to keep." He let go slowly, stepping back.

"Get out of my apartment," I growled, my heart still beating hard.
"Gladly." He walked to the door, pausing there to glance back at me one final time. "Enjoy the headlines while they last, Elma. I promise you won't enjoy what comes next."