Chapter 173: Psychological Counseling

The recording stopped. The counseling room fell completely silent.

Felix looked at her, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You heard it."

"Yeah." Cecilia pocketed her phone. "So are you going to explain, or keep saying you can't talk?"

Felix was quiet for a moment. "I had those files cleared because I was afraid Scarlett would get to them first. She's capable of anything right now. If you start digging into the past, you'll paint a target on your back."

Cecilia studied him. "You've been having me followed?"

"Yes."

"How many people?"

"Two teams in the open. Three working undercover."

Cecilia gave a small laugh. "Mr. Knightley, you're surprisingly honest."

"I don't want to lie to you anymore." Felix stood in front of her. "Once that statement goes public, Scarlett's going to lose it. She already went after Isla Island. Next time she won't just target the project. I need to make sure every time you leave your apartment, come back home, or show up at Yale—someone's watching."

"Watching me, or protecting me?"

"Protecting you."

"I don't like being managed."

"I know." Felix met her eyes. "This time you don't need to agree. You can pretend they don't exist. As long as you're safe."

Cecilia didn't answer right away. After about half a minute, she picked up her folder. "Don't get too close. Don't spook Eloane. Don't interfere with my work."

Something tight in Felix's expression loosened slightly. "Okay."

"And one more thing." Cecilia looked up. "If you clear my path again, I'm sending all your people to the precinct for coffee."

The corner of Felix's mouth twitched faintly. "Understood."

At the same time, a charity luncheon in Manhattan.

Scarlett sat on the right side of the main table, her salad untouched. From the moment she'd walked in, the wives and daughters around her had been making her their topic of conversation.

"Miss Campbell still shows up to these things. She's got nerve."

"That Knightley statement came out of nowhere. Didn't even bother with an engagement party."

"I heard they're still investigating Isla Island. Terrifying. Who's going to risk eating steak at a resort hotel now?"

Someone raised their wine glass to cover their mouth, voice deliberately unsubdued. "Felix dumping her makes sense, though. Who wants to marry into that kind of mess?"

Crosby leaned toward Scarlett, feigning concern. "Honey, are you okay? You look awful."

Scarlett turned to her. "You here to watch me crash and burn too?"

Crosby's smile dimmed. "I'm trying to help you. Laurent's been stealing all the spotlight lately. Nobody's happy about it."

"Then shut up." Scarlett stood, her chair scraping loudly across the floor and drawing eyes from every direction.

She picked up her wine glass and walked over to the woman who'd been talking the loudest. "You like gossiping about my engagement?"

The woman's expression shifted. "Scarlett, I was just making conversation."

The next second, red wine splashed across her chest. Scarlett set down the empty glass with a cold smile. "Next time talk louder. I hate straining to hear."

She turned and walked out. Behind her, the whispers grew even thicker.

In the car, her assistant reported quietly, "Miss, someone in Florida's been contacted by Knightley's people. And Reed Group—they canceled tonight's dinner this morning."

Scarlett's face darkened. "Felix is making his move."

"The board's asking questions too. If the Isla Island case keeps escalating, Campbell's tourism division is going to take a major hit."

Scarlett closed her eyes. When she opened them a few seconds later, her voice was flat. "Keep eyes on Genevieve Bennett. If she opens her mouth again, make sure it's the last time."

The assistant's fingers trembled. "Miss, the police are watching closely."

"Then find someone the police don't watch."

That evening, only a few lights remained on at Yale's counseling center.

Cecilia had just finished organizing case files and was heading out when she spotted Felix sitting on a bench in the hallway. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his forearms, his tie loose. The sharp edge of authority had dulled, replaced by exhaustion.

"What are you doing here again?"

Felix looked up. "I keep dreaming about my parents' accident. In the dream, the brakes fail and the car goes off the road. My father looks back at me and says, 'Stop digging.'"

Cecilia watched him for a few seconds. "Come in."

Felix sat on the couch, arms braced on his knees, voice low.

"Campbell was selling counterfeit goods back then. Fake materials ended up in a Florida factory. Safety reports were buried. Workers protested. Elliot sent people to 'handle it.' Before the explosion, someone got hold of evidence and was planning to bring it to my father."

Cecilia sat across from him, not interrupting.

"My parents went to meet the witness. On the way back, they crashed. Brake line had been tampered with. The repair shop's records were altered. The mechanic disappeared. The whole thing was ruled an accident."

He looked up. "I've been investigating for eight years. Every time I dig up a piece, Campbell buries it under another layer. Counterfeit goods, the explosion, silencing witnesses, wire transfers, witness deaths—it all traces back to Elliot."

Cecilia's tone was even. "You knew Scarlett's family was covering up murders, and you still went through with the engagement."

"I needed her to think Knightley was still on Campbell's side. If she relaxed, Elliot would too." Felix gave a bitter smile.

"But you dragged me into your scheme."

"Yes." Felix met her eyes. "That's the worst thing I've done."

Cecilia didn't scold him. Instead, she opened a drawer and pulled out a metronome used for relaxation exercises. "Your nerves are wound too tight. Sit back. Close your eyes."

Felix complied.

"Listen to my breathing. Drop your shoulders. Relax your hands. You're in the Yale counseling room right now. The door's locked. There are people standing guard outside. The accident is in the past. The explosion is in the past. You're alive. The evidence is alive."

Felix's breathing gradually steadied.

Cecilia's voice held no excess comfort—just clarity and calm.

Ten minutes later, Felix had fallen asleep on the couch. His brow was still furrowed, but his fingers had finally unclenched.

Cecilia glanced at him and texted Roman. [Come pick him up. Don't wake him.]

The message had barely sent when Zoe called. "We've got a lead on Genevieve. Brooklyn. Gray Whale Club, underground VIP room. She's waiting for someone to deliver cash."

Cecilia grabbed her coat. "Send me the address."

"Don't go alone." Zoe's voice was urgent.

Cecilia had already made up her mind. "I'm bringing Felix's people."

Zoe was silent for two seconds. "That sentence is seriously annoying."

Half an hour later, Gray Whale Club, lower level.

When the door to the private room opened, Genevieve was clutching her purse on the couch, looking pale.

She jumped when she saw Cecilia. "How did you find me?"

Cecilia closed the door behind her and set her phone on the table, screen facing up. A live evidence-recording app was running, the feed streaming directly to Laurent's legal team.

Genevieve glared at her. "You can't record me without permission—that's illegal!"

"Feel free to call the cops." Cecilia sat down and tossed several documents onto the table. "Three wire transfers. Eighty thousand dollars. Your mother's hospital payment records. Shopping receipts. Cash exchange records. You said Lyrial poisoned herself. How do you explain the money?"

All the color drained from Genevieve's face. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Scarlett paid you to bring Lyrial to the island. Lyrial thought she was just faking an illness to trigger a food safety scandal so her mother could get the money she needed. But you knew it was real poison."

"No!" Genevieve screamed. "I didn't know!"