Chapter 150 The Confrontation

Chapter 150 The Confrontation
Levi's POV

Marcus's forty-eight hours turned into five days, but when the name finally lands in my inbox, I understand exactly why he needed every extra hour to be sure.

Gregory Voss. Whitfield family estate manager. Fourteen years of service.

Not a jealous ex. Not some random troll hiding behind a screen. A man who's spent almost as long working for Sloane's family as I've been alive, who has access to their schedules, their cars, their private security logs and, apparently, whatever quiet conversations happen at their dinner table about business deals that depend on which Thorne marries which Whitfield.

"He's the one who set up the accounts," Marcus tells me over the phone, voice low, careful, like even saying it out loud might make it more real. "Every login traces back to a device registered to him. I think he panicked when you went public with Anya. I think he decided it was his job to fix it before Mr. Whitfield had to."

"Fix it how?"

Marcus doesn't answer right away, and that silence is worse than anything he could've said.

We find him in the parking garage behind the community center where the Whitfield Foundation holds its board meetings, Anya insisted on coming, said she wasn't going to let anyone else fight this battle standing in front of her, and I didn't have it in me to argue, because I understand exactly what it cost her to say that out loud.

Voss doesn't look like a threat. That's the worst part. He's mid-fifties, gray at the temples, the kind of unremarkable, well-dressed man you'd walk past in any boardroom without a second glance. He's leaning against a black sedan, scrolling his phone, and when he sees us his expression doesn't so much as flicker.

"Mr. Thorne," he says pleasantly, like we're meeting at a gala instead of a parking garage. "And Ms. Reyes. I wondered how long it would take."

"You've been sending her messages for two weeks," I say, and I feel Anya's hand find mine, gripping tight. "Threatening her. Tracking her schedule. Do you have any idea what that's done to her?"

"I have a very good idea, actually." Voss pockets his phone, unbothered, almost bored. "I've watched Sloane grow up in that house. I've watched Mr. Whitfield build an empire out of careful alliances and careful marriages, and I've watched fourteen years of that work sit on the edge of a knife because a boy couldn't keep his personal life out of the papers." His eyes slide to Anya, cold and assessing in a way that makes my whole body go rigid. "Nothing personal, Ms. Reyes. You simply happened to be standing in the way of something much larger than either of you."

"Nothing personal?" Anya's voice shakes, but she doesn't step back. "You found my old work schedule. You knew which exit I use after practice. You called that nothing personal?"

"I called it necessary." Voss's tone doesn't change, and that's somehow more chilling than if he'd shouted. "A gentle deterrent. A reminder that some doors, once opened, are more easily closed than people realize."

"That's a threat," I say, stepping forward, every muscle in my body tight with the effort of not doing something I can't take back. "You just admitted to threatening her."

"I admitted to protecting an arrangement that predates either of you understanding what it means to run a family, a company, an entire staff's livelihood." For the first time, something sharper flickers across his face, not guilt, but impatience, like we're children wasting his valuable time. "You'll forgive me if I don't feel particularly remorseful about a few unsettling emails in service of that."

"It's over," I say. "Marcus has everything, the accounts, the IP logs, the device registration. I'm taking it straight to my father and to the police, tonight."

For the first time, Voss's calm cracks, just slightly, a muscle ticking at his jaw. "Your father will do nothing that jeopardizes his relationship with Whitfield Capital. You know that better than anyone."

"Watch me test that theory."

He studies me for a long moment, something calculating shifting behind his eyes, and when he finally speaks again his voice has dropped into something quieter, more deliberate, the kind of quiet that's far more dangerous than shouting.

"You should think very carefully about what you're threatening to unravel, Mr. Thorne." His gaze slides back to Anya, lingering there a beat too long. "Fourteen years, I've kept that family's secrets and smoothed over every inconvenience that threatened to become a scandal. I am very good at what I do. I would hate for Ms. Reyes to become another inconvenience I have to smooth over."

The air goes solid in my lungs.

"Is that a threat?" I say, low, dangerous, stepping between him and Anya without thinking.

Voss smiles, thin and unhurried, already turning toward his car like this conversation has cost him nothing at all. "Consider it a caution, freely given. Some things are worth protecting at any cost. I'd hate for either of you to find that out the hard way."

He gets into the sedan, and I watch it pull out of the garage, taillights disappearing around the concrete bend, and it's only once the engine noise fades completely that I realize I haven't breathed properly in almost a full minute.

"Levi." Anya's voice is barely a whisper behind me, hollow in a way I've never heard from her before. "He just"

I turn, and the fear on her face nearly buckles my knees.

"He just threatened me," she finishes. "Directly. Not a message. Not anonymous. To my face."

My phone buzzes in my pocket before I can answer her, one new message, no name attached, the same burner number Marcus flagged from that spreadsheet five days ago.

I open it with a hand that isn't quite steady.

You should have let this end quietly. Now I have to make sure it does.

The garage suddenly feels a hundred degrees colder, and when I reach for Anya's hand, I realize we're both shaking.