Chapter 135
Harper
The weight of Mason's envelope pressed against my side as I drove away from Whitaker Holdings. Every few seconds, my eyes darted to the rearview mirror, scanning for unfamiliar vehicles that might linger too long behind me. The manila envelope felt like a ticking bomb inside my leather bag.
I made a sudden right turn down a side street, then another left after two blocks—basic counter-surveillance techniques I'd learned during my time in Switzerland. Paranoid? Perhaps. But Mason's terrified expression told me everything I needed to know about the stakes of whatever information he'd passed to me.
My fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles had turned white. I forced myself to take deep breaths, trying to calm the racing thoughts in my mind. Mason's whispered warnings echoed: "They're watching... always watching."
I reached for my phone, scrolling to Vivien's number, then hesitated. Whatever this was, I couldn't drag her deeper into it. She was already doing enough by helping with my parents. This burden would be mine alone—at least until I understood what I was dealing with.
Instead, I took a detour through downtown, making three more random turns before finally heading toward Sinclair Estate. If Rowan had really assigned security to follow me, I hoped they were good enough to keep up without being obvious.
---
"You're home early," Mom said as I walked through the door, her expression a mixture of surprise and concern. "I thought your meeting would run until evening."
I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a casual smile, though my hand remained clutched around my bag.
"The presentation went faster than expected," I said, setting my keys on the entryway table with deliberate nonchalance. "Where are the kids?"
"Emily took them to preschool." Mom studied my face with the kind of scrutiny only mothers seem capable of. "Harper, are you feeling alright? You look pale."
"Just tired," I replied, moving toward the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. "The presentation was... intense."
Mom followed, her brow furrowed. "Windsor called earlier. They want to confirm if Samuel will participate in next week's math competition. Apparently, he's qualified for the advanced bracket."
I nodded absently, grateful for the mundane topic that required no pretense. "Yes, he's been practicing. I'll call them back."
My phone buzzed with a text message from Rowan: I'm five minutes away.
"I need to take this call in my office," I said, already moving toward the hallway. "It's about the quantum project."
Mom nodded, seemingly satisfied with my explanation. As I headed to my study, I felt a momentary relief that the twins weren't home. Whatever was in that envelope, I didn't want them anywhere near it.
---
The doorbell rang precisely four minutes later. When I opened the door, Rowan stood there in his impeccable suit, but his eyes revealed the tension he carried.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his gaze searching my face.
I nodded slightly, glancing over his shoulder to the street beyond. "Come in. We need to talk in private."
As he stepped inside, our eyes met in silent communication—caution, concern, and a shared understanding of the gravity of what we were about to discuss.
"Your mother's here?" he asked under his breath.
"In the garden with my father. My study is this way."
I led him down the hallway to my home office, carefully closing the door behind us. Rowan immediately walked to the windows, checking the locks and drawing the blinds halfway—enough to block direct view but not so obvious as to suggest secretive activity.
"I had the house checked for listening devices last month," I told him. "It's clean, as far as I know."
He nodded, his eyes scanning the room methodically anyway. "Better safe than sorry. The way Mason approached you... it suggests he's afraid of someone powerful."
I sat behind my desk, placing my bag in front of me. My hands trembled slightly as I reached inside for the manila envelope.
Rowan noticed my hesitation and moved closer, his hand briefly touching the back of mine in a gesture that was both reassuring and surprising in its gentleness.
"Whatever it is, Harper, we'll figure it out together."
I looked up at him, searching for any hint of deception, but found only determination in his eyes. With a deep breath, I withdrew the envelope and placed it on the desk between us.
---
The contents spilled out across the polished wood surface—financial statements, a handwritten letter on yellowed paper, and a small black USB drive.
Rowan picked up the financial documents first, his brow furrowing as he scanned them. "These show unusual transfers from offshore accounts to James Peterson's personal accounts. Regular payments over six months leading up to the security breach."
"Blackmail payments?" I suggested, leaning forward to examine the statements.
"Or bribes." Rowan set down the papers and picked up the handwritten letter. "This is from Peterson to your father."
I moved around the desk to read over his shoulder, my heart pounding as I recognized the handwriting from the old R&D reports I'd studied years ago.
Wyatt,
I can no longer live with what I've done. The security backdoor wasn't an accident or oversight. They threatened my family, showed me pictures of my daughter at her college dorm. I had no choice but to comply.
The vulnerability was inserted exactly as instructed—subtle enough to pass all standard security protocols, but accessible to anyone with the right key. I didn't know they planned to use it to destroy Sinclair Technologies. You must believe me.
He approached me first, offering money for industrial espionage, but when I refused, the threats began. I've documented everything on the enclosed drive, including the actual code implementation and
The letter ended abruptly, as if Peterson had been interrupted while writing it.
"He never delivered this to my father," I whispered. "Why?"
Rowan reached for the USB drive. "Let's see what's on this."