Chapter 64 Unknown connection

"I don't understand," I said honestly. "What kind of connection?"

Gregory studied me for a moment longer, then sighed. "The project has enemies, Ms. Peters. Powerful people who would prefer our technology never reaches the market. Thomas Johnson's energy conglomerate, in particular, has been actively working against us."

I nodded slowly. Bernard had mentioned this – the security concerns, the corporate espionage attempts. But that didn't explain my "personal connection" to anything.

"Bernard will explain everything soon," Gregory continued. "Just know that your role in this project goes beyond marketing strategy. Much beyond."

He stood, signaling that our meeting was concluding. "You've impressed me today, both with your presentation and with your directness. I believe Bernard chose well, regardless of his additional motivations."

I rose as well, my mind still spinning with questions. "Thank you, Mr. Morris. But I have to say, this conversation has left me with more questions than answers."

"That's often the mark of a productive discussion," he replied with a slight smile. "One more thing, Ms. Peters."

"Yes?"

"Be careful with Bernard," Gregory said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Not because he means you harm – quite the opposite. But his methods of protecting what he values can sometimes be... excessive."

With that cryptic warning, he escorted me to the door. "Vivian will show you back to your office. I look forward to seeing the results of your work as we move forward."

Outside in the hallway, I found Vivian waiting as promised. As she led me back toward my office, I tried to make sense of what had just happened. Gregory Morris had all but confirmed that Bernard had selected me for reasons beyond my professional qualifications – reasons apparently personal enough that Bernard hadn't shared them with me yet.

What personal connection could I possibly have to Bernard or this project that I wasn't aware of? And why was Gregory so certain that Bernard needed to be the one to tell me?

Back in my office, I sat at my desk, staring out at the Manhattan skyline without really seeing it. My mind was racing with possibilities, none of which made sense. I had no prior connection to Bernard, to Morris Industries, or to anyone in this world. My life before the coffee "accident" had been completely separate from anything in Bernard's orbit.

I needed answers, and I needed them now.

I pulled out my phone and sent Bernard a text: "Need to speak with you. Privately. Today."

His response came almost immediately: "My office. 5 PM."

That was three hours away – three hours to sit with my questions and speculations, three hours to wonder what possible "personal connection" Gregory could have been referring to.

I tried to focus on work, reviewing market research for the North American launch, but my mind kept circling back to Gregory's words. "A personal connection that Bernard discovered during his research on potential candidates."

By the time 5 PM finally arrived, I had worked myself into a state of nervous agitation. I gathered my tablet and phone, told Vivian I was heading to Bernard's office for our scheduled meeting, and walked down the hallway with determination in every step.

Bernard was standing by his window when I entered, just as he had been this morning. He turned as I closed the door behind me, his expression carefully neutral.

"Diana," he greeted me. "How was your meeting with Gregory?"

"Illuminating," I said, moving directly to the point. "He told me there are things you haven't shared about why you selected me for this project. Something about a 'personal connection' you discovered during your research."

Bernard's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "I see."

"That's all you have to say?" I demanded, my frustration bubbling over. "I'm tired of partial truths, Bernard. I'm tired of cryptic warnings and the sense that everyone knows something about me that I don't."

Bernard sighed, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit down."

I remained standing. "I'd prefer answers first."

"Diana," Bernard said, his voice softening slightly, "this is not a simple explanation. It's better if you're sitting."

Something in his tone made me comply, though I sat on the edge of the chair, maintaining my posture of readiness.

Bernard didn't sit behind his desk as I expected. Instead, he took the chair beside mine, turning to face me directly. It was the closest we'd been physically since the kiss in his penthouse a week ago.

"Gregory shouldn't have said anything," Bernard began, frustration evident in his tone. "I told him I would handle this when the time was right."

"And when exactly would that be?" I challenged. "After more weeks of me working on a project where I apparently have some mysterious 'personal connection' I know nothing about?"

Bernard met my gaze directly. "I was waiting until your security clearance was finalized. Until I was certain you were fully committed to the project."

"That's not good enough," I said firmly. "Whatever this is, it apparently involves me personally. I have a right to know now."

Bernard studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You're right. You do." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "What I'm about to tell you will change how you see this project – and possibly how you see me. I need you to listen completely before you respond."

My heart was pounding now, anxiety mixing with impatience. "I'm listening."

Bernard took a deep breath. "When I began researching potential marketing specialists for this project, I used standard professional databases. Your work at Apex caught my attention immediately – especially the organic skincare campaign. Your approach showed exactly the kind of innovative thinking we needed."

I nodded. This much I knew already.

"But as I began more detailed background research on the top candidates, I discovered something unexpected about you," Bernard continued. "Something that made you uniquely valuable to this specific project."

"What?" I prompted when he paused.

Bernard's gray eyes held mine steadily. "Your birth records, Diana. They didn't match the official story you've been told about your origins."

I blinked in surprise. "What do you mean? I know I'm adopted – my mother told me that when I was twelve."