Chapter 30
Sebastian set down his phone.
His back pressed against the chair, a cold sensation running along his spine from his lower back to the nape of his neck.
In the early morning hours, only the top floor of Ashford Group headquarters was still lit.
Sebastian picked up the desk phone and dialed Mr. Lewis's cell.
It rang seven times.
"Hello... Mr. Ashford?"
Mr. Lewis's voice was hoarse, fuzzy with sleep.
"My office. Half an hour."
Sebastian hung up.
Twenty-three minutes later, the elevator doors opened on the top floor.
Mr. Lewis wore a wrinkled casual jacket, his hair still uncombed and hanging over his forehead. When he pushed open the executive office door, he saw Sebastian sitting behind his desk, only a single desk lamp lit in front of him.
The lighting in the office was dim.
Half of Sebastian's face was hidden in the lamp's shadow.
Mr. Lewis stopped in front of the desk. His hands unconsciously clenched together, knuckles turning slightly white.
Sebastian didn't tell him to sit.
Sebastian slammed those four pages down on the desk. The force made the teacup lid jump.
"Where did this come from?"
Mr. Lewis's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Mr. Ashford, I already told you, it was on Evelyn's old computer hard drive—"
"August 14th. Sunday."
Sebastian cut him off.
Mr. Lewis's words stuck in his throat.
Sebastian flipped to the third page and tapped his finger on that date.
"Parker Group's internal communication system doesn't run on weekends. This record has an entry generated on a Sunday. Explain that."
Sweat broke out on Mr. Lewis's forehead. Not the fine kind. Big, heavy drops that ran down from his hairline.
"That... could be... an error in the date stamp..."
"An error?"
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, both hands resting on the armrests.
"Parker Group's legal team has issued a statement. They confirmed this communication record is forged. You think I should trust Parker Group's system logs, or your 'error'?"
Mr. Lewis's lips trembled.
"Mr. Ashford, I..."
"Peter Lewis."
Sebastian used his full name.
Mr. Lewis's body went rigid.
"You've been with me for five years. In those five years, how many chances have I given you? You know. When that Riverbend project got buried, I didn't investigate who helped you because I thought you understood gratitude."
Sebastian's voice wasn't loud. Half a degree lower than usual.
"The content in that anonymous post online is identical to this document you gave me. The post went up last night at ten. You handed this to me at eight. Two hours earlier."
Mr. Lewis's knees went weak.
"You knew in advance that post was going up."
Not a question. A statement.
Mr. Lewis's shirt back was soaked through. The sweat plastered the fabric to his skin. He opened his mouth to breathe, his chest heaving violently.
"Mr. Ashford... I..."
"Last chance."
Sebastian's finger tapped once on the armrest.
"Tell the truth, I'll cover for you. Lie, and I'm calling the police right now. Forging business documents, suspected infringement of corporate trade secrets—your case qualifies for criminal prosecution."
"Calling the police" hit Mr. Lewis's ears.
His knees completely gave out. His whole body dropped, both knees slamming onto the hardwood floor of the office with a dull thud.
"It was Ms. Jackson who gave it to me!"
The words sounded like they'd been ripped from his chest.
"What?"
"Ms. Arianna Jackson! She gave me this thing herself when she asked me to meet her at Haven Club. She said it was real and told me to pass it to you. She said it couldn't be exposed as fake."
Mr. Lewis knelt on the floor, both hands braced on the ground, sweat from his forehead dripping onto the dark wood grain.
"Even that anonymous post online... she told me about it in advance. She said after the post went up, people would help guide public opinion in the comments. She told me to give you the document first so that when you saw the post, you'd believe it was real..."
Sebastian's finger froze on the armrest.
The air in the entire office felt like it had been sucked out.
Arianna.
When that name came out of Mr. Lewis's mouth, Sebastian felt a strange sense of vertigo. Not the kind from a headache. The kind where the ground beneath your feet suddenly goes soft.
"When did she ask you to meet?"
"Yesterday afternoon at four. Haven Club, private room eight."
"How did she contact you?"
"WhatsApp. She used a new number, not her usual cell."
Sebastian closed his eyes briefly.
Mr. Lewis kept talking.
"Mr. Ashford, that Riverbend project thing three years ago... Ms. Jackson was the one who got it buried for me. All these years she never mentioned it, but I knew in my heart it was like a debt I owed. When she came to me today, I didn't dare refuse..."
"Enough."
Sebastian opened his eyes.
"Get out."
Mr. Lewis braced himself on his knees and stood up, his legs shaking, nearly tripping over the threshold as he walked. He opened the door and started to leave, turned back like he wanted to say something, met Sebastian's gaze, and closed his mouth again.
The door closed.
Sebastian sat alone in the office.
The desk lamp illuminated those four pages on the desk. The Parker Group logo in the footer reflected a cold white glow under the light.
His brain was rapidly replaying events from the past few months.
That anonymous WhatsApp Mr. Larry received. [She doesn't have anyone backing her now. Do what you want.] The sending tower was within three kilometers of Ashford Group.
The anonymous text Evelyn received. [Mistress's daughter. Can't wash that off no matter where you go.] Same tower range. Same virtual number. Same phrasing structure.
Now this forged communication record.
All three threads pointed in the same direction.
A direction he was used to trusting.
A direction he was used to protecting.
Sebastian's hands slowly twisted together. Fingers interlaced, knuckles grinding with an audible friction.
He tried to find excuses for Arianna in his mind.
Maybe she meant well. Worried that Evelyn at Parker Group would be bad for Ashford Group.
Maybe she was being used. Whoever made the forged documents had deceived her.
Maybe her method was just wrong, but her intentions were good.
One excuse after another surfaced from his mind, laid out in front of him, lined up in a row. Like defense arguments in a courtroom.
But facing those defense arguments was evidence.
The Mr. Larry incident. The anonymous text. The forged documents. The anonymous online post.
Behind each event was professional execution. Virtual numbers, forged document templates, pre-deployed public opinion manipulation. This wasn't something a person with "good intentions" could pull off.
Sebastian picked up those four pages, folded them once, folded them again, and shoved them into the locked bottom drawer of his desk.
He locked the drawer.