Chapter 27 Lines of Authority
Eli’s POV
By the time I walked into Ward HQ, the article had done three laps around every screen in the place.
People tried not to look as I crossed the open office, which just meant they looked more. Conversations dropped to a hum when I passed. Somewhere, a printer spat out hard copies of my private life turned into a headline.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Mila. Good luck, boss, her text read, followed by an animated hand making its feelings about the media very clear.
I snorted once, then pushed open the conference room door.
Lucas sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, tie loosened like he wanted to seem casual and failed. To his right was our internal compliance head, Daniels, all narrow eyes and tidily stacked files. Opposite them, a retired FBI type we used as an external advisor when things got ugly. Gray hair, serious suit, the kind of man who had seen worse than gossip but still respected the power of it.
“Eli,” Lucas said. “Sit.”
I dropped into the chair opposite him, feeling like I had been called into the principal’s office, if the principal could fire you and ruin your reputation in three industries.
Daniels folded his hands. “We need to talk about the cabin.”
“The cabin was a tactical relocation following multiple targeted attacks,” I said. “Not a vacation.”
“The press does not see the difference,” the FBI guy said. “They see you on a dock next to a client, very close, very alone. Optics matter.”
“We are not here to discuss your tactical decisions,” Daniels cut in. “We are here to discuss whether your relationship with Ms Mercer compromises Ward’s ability to provide unbiased, professional protection.”
That word hit harder than I liked. Relationship.
“Define relationship,” I said.
Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do not play cute.”
“Fine,” I said. “We were in close quarters because the safehouse network was compromised. I have been sleeping in the same corridor as high value targets for a long time. This is not new.”
“Sleeping arrangements,” Daniels said, flipping a page. “Bedroom and common room, or shared bed.”
I met his eyes. “Separate. I was on the couch. She was in the bed. Doors locked, protocols followed. Did emotional lines blur? Yes. I care about her as more than a name on a contract. I would not be doing this job if I did not care when someone keeps getting shot at.”
The FBI advisor tilted his head. “Has there been a sexual relationship during the contract period?”
I thought of Berlin. Of the wall in the cabin. Of her mouth on mine, her whisper that it was already us.
“No relationship that compromises her ability to consent or my ability to protect her,” I said. It was the only answer I could give that did not dig us both into deeper holes.
“That is not a yes or a no,” Daniels said.
“It is the truth,” I said. “Whatever existed before this contract is not relevant to whether I can put my body between her and a bullet now.”
They pressed on conflict of interest, on what would happen if she ordered me to stand down and I refused, or worse, if I agreed because my judgment was clouded. Liability if she got hurt while I was distracted.
The questions were fair. That was the worst part.
Lucas finally held up a hand. “Enough,” he said. “We cannot scrub the picture off the internet, but we can control our response. My recommendation is that Eli stays on as lead in practice. On paper, we add a co lead who can speak to optics. And there is to be no non professional conduct during the term of this contract. At all.”
He looked at me hard on that last sentence.
I understood exactly what he was saying. He was cutting me a line to stay in place and yanking it tight around my throat at the same time.
I nodded slowly. “Understood.”
I hated the idea of being a prop. Of some other name sitting in a file as lead while I did the real work in the shadows. But hating it did not change the fact that stepping away would mean someone else, maybe from a firm I did not trust, standing where I needed to be.
Back in the ops room, Mila spun in her chair to face me.
“They grilled you,” she said. It was not a question.
“A little.”
She turned her monitor, showing her trace on the dock photos. “Long lens from the tree line. Images routed through an anonymous foreign relay, then sold to a gossip freelancer who specializes in rich people’s bad decisions. This was not some bored camper. Whoever this is knows where you go off grid and how to monetize it for both clicks and pressure.”
Diaz leaned on the doorframe. “And Mercer’s board is whispering about bringing in a new supplemental vendor to show they take ethics seriously,” he said. “Name floating around is Sentinel Gate. Guess who has fingers in their pie.”
“RyeSec,” I said. It figured. Noah’s people inching toward Sloane’s perimeter while Ward took the heat.
Protective rage flared in my chest. The thought of Noah’s operatives in her halls, his protocols written over mine, made my hands itch.
Lucas came in last, shutting the door behind him. He looked tired.
“You stay on,” he said. “You are still lead in function. But Eli, you so much as look at her the wrong way on camera and they will gut us both. Compliance is not bluffing on this. Stay professional.”
Professional. I had built my life on that word. Only now it had teeth in it, snapping at things I was no longer sure I wanted to keep at bay.
Walking out of Ward, the city pressed close, noisy and oblivious. In the reflection of a glass wall I caught my own face, harder than it had been a year ago.
They could call it whatever they wanted in their reports. Ethics review. Conflict of interest.
For me, the lines of authority were clearer than they had ever been.
I was going to keep Sloane alive.
I was going to stay at her side.
And I was going to find whoever kept reaching into her boardroom from the shadows and break their fingers.