Twenty-six #2
“Yes, sir.” Keith begins to navigate through traffic.
I feel the weight pressing harder than ever. Willow with supervised visits, means she’s still tethered to Amelia and me. And the thought of her instability anywhere near my daughter makes my blood burn.
But I don’t have time to brood. Not today. Ellory’s theft and assault are still unsolved, and if Heather or Willow—or both—are involved, I need to know.
The ride from the courthouse to South of Market does nothing to cool my temper. Willow walking out of that courtroom with the possibility of partial custody if she gets her act together… It’s like giving a match back to an arsonist.
Clear Security’s offices sit in an old brick warehouse, the kind of place that blends into the industrial sprawl until you step inside. Jim Adelson is waiting for me in the garage, leaning against a concrete pillar like he’s been there all along.
“Rough morning?” he asks, reading it in my face.
“You could say that.”
He pushes off the pillar and leads me up a metal staircase to the first floor.
The space opens wide, raw and stripped back—exposed brick, steel beams, ducts running like arteries overhead.
Desks are spread across the floor, teams bent over monitors, voices low but purposeful.
It’s a hive of movement, sharp and efficient.
I take it all in—the hum of equipment, the wall of screens flickering with camera feeds, maps, data streams. If anyone can find answers, it’s here.
Jim steers me into a glass-walled conference room tucked in the corner. Moments later, Bash Pontius barrels in with his usual swagger, followed by Gage, quieter but with the same razor-edged focus.
Bash drops into a chair, stretching out like he owns the place. “Well, well. Matteo Marino in the flesh.”
Gage sets a slim laptop on the table, already booting something up. “Let’s get down to it.”
I fold my arms, the courthouse still clinging to me like smoke. I don’t bother with small talk once we’re seated. “You need to know something. Night to Remember walked out of Olivier’s offices the night before last.”
Bash straightens in his chair, grin fading. Jim’s brows draw tight, and even Gage, usually unflappable, pauses mid-keystroke.
“We’ve been in touch with Lenning,” Jim says quietly.
I reach into my jacket, pull out the thumb drive Ellory gave me, and slide it across the table. “This is what we’ve got from security. Thirty minutes of clean footage and then nothing. Black screen. When it comes back, the dress is gone.”
Gage plugs the drive into his laptop. The screen fills with grainy footage of Olivier’s gleaming hallways, timestamps scrolling in the corner.
Everything looks normal until it doesn’t.
The feed cuts out, static swallowing the picture.
Thirty long minutes tick by, then the cameras snap back online. The dress form is empty.
Bash lets out a low whistle. “Well, that’s not subtle.”
Jim leans forward, jaw set. “Somebody with inside access. Cameras don’t just shut off on their own.”
Gage rewinds the file, running it again, his eyes narrowing as he scrubs frame by frame around the blackout. “Let me see what’s baked into the code. Maybe whoever killed the feed left fingerprints.”
I sit back, anger simmering hotter than ever. “Whoever it was didn’t just steal a dress. They wanted Ellory humiliated. They wanted her rattled in front of the board. That makes this personal.”
Gage leans closer to the screen, fingers flying over the keys. Lines of code spill across the monitor, raw data beneath the footage. His brow furrows.
“Found something,” he murmurs. “System shows a manual shutdown. Someone logged into security with executive credentials right before the blackout.”
My pulse jumps. “Whose credentials?”
He clicks through a few more windows, then freezes. “Looks like…Olivier.”
The room goes dead quiet.
Bash’s brows shoot up. “Her father? You’re telling me the old man walked in there and killed the cameras himself?”
Jim leans back slowly, jaw tight. “Or someone used his login.”
I shake my head, heat surging in my chest. “Ellory said her father was at dinner with his girlfriend. And he backed her at the board meeting. This doesn’t add up. But if his credentials were used, it means one of two things, either he’s in on it…or someone close to him wants it to look that way.”
Gage sits back, arms crossed. “That’s the problem with access at that level. It’s hard to prove who was actually at the keyboard.”
Bash smirks grimly. “But it does prove one thing. This wasn’t random. Whoever did this, they wanted the trail to point straight to her father.”
And just like that, the knot in my gut tightens. If Heather really is behind this, she’s not just after Ellory’s position. She’s trying to burn her father’s credibility with it.
I rake a hand through my hair, staring at the screen. Ellory doesn’t need this—not yet. Not when her father finally stood behind her. Dropping this on her without proof would only rip that fragile ground out from under her.
“I won’t tell her until we know more,” I say finally, my voice rough.
Jim nods once. “We’ll keep digging. And we’ll coordinate with SFPD. Inspector Lenning’s already looped in. If there’s a trail, we’ll find it.”
Bash leans back, folding his arms. “And if it really was her father?”
I grit my teeth. “Then I’ll be the one to tell her. But I’m betting it wasn’t.”
The silence in the room feels heavy, the hum of servers filling the space. Finally, I push back from the table. “Keep me updated.”
I head out of the warehouse and back into the sharp San Francisco air, the weight of too many battles pressing down at once. Willow. Heather. Now, Ellory’s father.
I check my watch. Late afternoon already. If I don’t at least show my face at the office, my team will think I’ve disappeared. And I’ve still got the NAGI dinner tonight.
Sliding into the car, I set my jaw. A few hours at the office. Then dinner. And if I’m lucky, a plan to untangle all of this before it crushes me.