Chapter 26 Under The Microscope
The kitchen island was covered in antiseptic wipes and blood-speckled cotton balls. Sarah’s hands were still trembling as she pressed a fresh gauze pad against the jagged cut on Alex’s cheekbone.
Alex sat perfectly still. He didn't wince, even when the chemicals stung the open wound. He just watched her. His eyes followed every movement of her hands, every flicker of fear in her expression.
"You have to tell me the truth, Alex," Sarah said, her voice tight and low. She didn't look at his eyes; she focused on the task of cleaning the dried blood from his jaw.
"What exactly did you do to Joseph? Where is he right now?"
"I told you," Alex replied. He reached up and caught her wrist, stopping her movement.
"He’s fine. He’s just taking a long nap in his car. I didn't break anything that won't heal."
"A long nap? Alex, that sounds like a concussion. Or worse." She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was firm.
"If he’s hurt as badly as you look, the police are going to come knocking. I can't protect you from a felony charge."
"I don't need you to protect me, Sarah," he said, his voice dropping into that deep, possessive register that always made her skin prickle.
"I need you to stay focused on the contract. Joseph was going to destroy you. I stopped him. That’s all that matters."
"It’s not all that matters! You’re a person, not just my... my guard dog."
"I'm whatever I need to be for you," he countered. He let go of her wrist and leaned back, his bruised face looking like a grim mask in the afternoon light.
"You’re so worried about the 'how.' Stop worrying. He doesn't have the photos anymore. I burned the envelope in a trash can behind the diner. The leverage is gone."
"Is it?" Sarah asked, her voice rising with a frantic edge.
"Because Gary MacIntyre is currently sitting in a boardroom going through my personal files. He doesn't need Joseph’s photos if he finds something else."
Before Alex could respond, Sarah’s phone buzzed on the counter. The caller ID showed Stacy’s name. Sarah snatched it up, putting it on speaker as she leaned over the island.
"Stacy? Please tell me you got the bag," Sarah panted.
"I couldn't get near it, Sarah," Stacy’s voice came through, sounding thin and panicked. She was clearly whispering from a bathroom stall or a storage closet.
"Gary is still in there. He’s like a dog with a bone. He didn't find the audio recording—thank God you kept that on your personal cloud—but he found something else."
Sarah felt a cold pit form in her stomach. "What? What did he find?"
"You had a copy of the security guest logs for your gated community in the side pocket," Stacy hissed.
"The ones you were supposed to review for the homeowner's association last month. Sarah, he’s been sitting there with a highlighter. He’s cross-referencing the dates."
"The dates of what?"
"The dates Alex checked in at the gate!" Stacy cried.
"He’s connecting the dots of your personal life. He’s seeing a pattern of a 'visitor' arriving at ten at night and leaving at five in the morning. He’s already talking to Henderson about the 'moral turpitude' clause in the Veridian contract. He’s building a case that your private life makes you a security risk and a liability to the project’s reputation."
Sarah sank into a kitchen chair, the phone slipping slightly in her hand.
"A moral turpitude clause? That’s for criminals and public scandals. I haven't done anything illegal."
"In Gary’s world, a CEO sleeping with her son’s twenty-two-year-old best friend is a scandal," Stacy said.
"He’s telling Henderson that if they sign with you, Sterling Associates will make sure the press hears about the 'unstable' leadership at Sarah’s Interior Decor. He’s trying to disqualify you before the vote even happens at five."
"He can't do that," Sarah whispered, though she knew he could. Gary didn't need a conviction; he only needed to create enough doubt to make the board choose the safer option.
"He is doing it," Stacy said.
"I have to go. Henderson is calling everyone back in. Sarah, if you’re coming back, you need to be here now. And you need an excuse for those logs that doesn't involve the kid."
The line went dead.
Sarah looked at Alex. He was standing now, his face a storm of dark intent. He had heard everything.
"He’s going through your logs?" Alex asked. His voice was dangerously quiet.
"He thinks he can use me to take your career away?"
"He’s winning, Alex," Sarah said, her voice breaking.
"Between you beating up Joseph and Gary finding those logs, I’m being dismantled. I’m being put under a microscope, and every choice I’ve made in the last month is being used as a weapon against me."
"Then we change the narrative," Alex said. He stepped toward her, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He cupped her face with his uninjured hand.
"Tell them I was staying there for security. Tell them Joseph was stalking you—which is true—and I was acting as a private guard. We can make the logs look like a safety measure."
"With you looking like you just fought a bear?" Sarah gestured to his face.
"No one will believe that, Alex. They’ll see exactly what we are. They’ll see a woman who lost her mind over a boy."
"I am not just a boy," he hissed, his thumb brushing over her lower lip.
"And you haven't lost your mind. You’ve just finally found something worth keeping. Gary MacIntyre is a parasite. He’s trying to own you by scaring you. Don't let him."
"I have to go back there," Sarah said, pulling away. She felt a sudden, desperate need for distance.
"I have to face them. I have to try to save this deal, or I’ll lose the company. I’ll lose everything I’ve built for Mark."
"I'm coming with you," Alex said.
"No! You are staying here. You are going to clean up this mess and stay out of sight." Sarah began grabbing the bloody cotton balls and the stained wipes, shoving them into a plastic grocery bag to hide the evidence of his injuries.
"If Mark comes home and sees you like this—"
The sound of the front door opening cut her off.
It was followed by the familiar jingle of keys being tossed into the bowl by the entry. Sarah’s heart leaped into her throat. She looked at the clock on the microwave. It was barely two in the afternoon.
"Mom? You home?" Mark’s voice called out. He sounded upbeat, his footsteps heavy and energetic as they moved across the hardwood floor toward the kitchen.
"I got off early. I wanted to tell you about the—"
Mark rounded the corner into the kitchen. He stopped.
The smile on his face died instantly. He looked at Sarah, who was standing by the trash can with a bag of medical waste in her hand. Then his gaze shifted to Alex, who was standing by the island, his face bruised.
But it was the kitchen island itself that drew Mark’s final, horrified attention.
Lying right in the center of the white marble was the large, white cloth Sarah had used to wipe the initial flow of blood from Alex’s lip. It was soaked through, a bright, visceral crimson that looked like a scream against the clean surface.
Mark looked at the blood. Then he looked at his best friend. Then he looked at his mother.
"What the hell happened in here?" Mark asked, his voice cracking with a sudden, sharp fear.