10. Serena #2
I lean against the marble wall, trying to process what just happened. The evidence against me, Caleb’s demolition of Patricia, the way his hand on mine kept me from completely falling apart. I pace twice, then three times, but the hallway feels like it’s shrinking. My lungs demand actual oxygen.
The stairwell door beckons. I push through and take the steps two at a time until I burst into the ground floor courtyard like I’m escaping Alcatraz.
The bench is cold and slightly damp, but I collapse onto it anyway, gulping air like I’ve been underwater. This is worse than I thought. Much worse. Someone genuinely wants to destroy me.
“Serena?”
I jump. “Maya? What are you doing here?”
“I heard about the meeting.” She sits beside me, immaculate as always in her Theory blazer. “The whole office is talking about it. Apparently Patricia came back looking like she’d been hit by a truck.”
“Good. Though I’m sure the whole office thinks I’m guilty.”
Maya tilts her head. “Some do. But the smart ones know you’d never do something this stupid. If you were going to commit corporate espionage, you’d at least delete the breadcrumbs.”
I laugh despite everything. “Thanks for the vote of confidence in my criminal capabilities.”
She glances toward the building, then back at me. “Listen, we probably shouldn’t talk here. Too many people around, and if HR sees us together…”
She's right. The courtyard might seem private, but it's still corporate property. People walking by, windows looking down on us.
"There's a little coffee place called Grind about a block north on Michigan," Maya says, standing. "Can you meet me there in ten minutes? I'll leave first, you follow after."
I nod. "OK. But you know you could get in trouble for this. HR specifically said?—”
“Fuck HR.” The vehemence surprises me. “You’re my mentor. My friend. I’m not abandoning you because some corporate lawyers are playing politics.”
She walks away quickly, not looking back. I wait five minutes before heading in the same direction.
I pull it out my phone when I hit the street, thumb hovering over Caleb's number. I should tell him where I'm going. But he's busy with David, probably handling important legal strategy that I'd only interrupt.
“He'll just call when he realizes I'm not by the elevators,” I tell myself as I slip the phone back into my purse and head toward the coffee shop.
Grind is aggressively hipster—exposed brick, Edison bulbs, baristas who definitely have MFAs. Maya has already secured a corner table and ordered two vanilla lattes. She slides one across as I sit.
“You look exhausted,” she says gently.
“Funny, I feel like a supermodel.”
We sit quietly for a moment. Maya fidgets with her straw wrapper, and there’s something in her expression I can’t read.
“They’re not going to pin this on you,” she says finally, so softly I almost miss it. “I mean, it’s obvious to anyone who actually knows you that you wouldn’t?—”
“It’s not obvious to them, Maya.” I stir my coffee with the straw. “Someone’s working really hard to make it look like I did this.”
“How bad is it really?”
“Worse than bad. They have security footage, badge records, and some anonymous witness claiming I had lunch with Victoria Chase at Alinea. Which is insane because I can’t even afford their wine list.”
Maya grips her cup tighter. “We both know you’d never do anything like that.”
“Try telling Patricia Wong that. Even with Caleb tearing their case apart, it still looks damning.”
“Caleb’s the hot lawyer who walked you in?”
Heat floods my face. “He’s my attorney. And yes, before you ask, he looks like that all the time. It’s deeply unfair to the rest of us mortals.”
Maya smiles slightly, then grows serious again. “I hate to even bring this up, but… have you considered that maybe someone on the team is involved?”
My stomach drops. “Of course. But who would do that? And why?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” She hesitates, then seems to make a decision. “Look, I don’t want to point fingers, but Lisa’s been acting strange lately. Ever since her divorce finalized, she’s been stressed about money. Mentioned selling her condo, downsizing…”
“Lisa?” The idea seems impossible. “She’s been with the company for eight years.”
“I know. But desperate people do desperate things.” Maya’s voice is apologetic. “And she’s always resented how quickly you got promoted. She mentioned it at the holiday party last year, after her third martini. Said some people get all the breaks while others do all the work.”
A chill runs through me. “You think Lisa sold our campaign to Radiance?”
“I think someone did. And that someone knew you well enough to frame you perfectly.” Maya reaches across and squeezes my hand.
“There’s something else. Last month, Lisa asked me if I knew your passwords. Said she needed to access some files while you were in that client meeting with Hartley.”
My blood turns to ice. “What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t give them to her,” Maya says quickly. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t get them another way. Shoulder surfing, keystroke logger, or just watching you type…”
“Five years,” I whisper. “I’ve worked with her for the entire five years I’ve been at Luminous. We’ve had drinks together, celebrated promotions…”
“I’m sorry.” Maya’s voice is soft. “I should have said something sooner, but I didn’t think anything of it until all this happened. I just thought she was being her usual passive-aggressive self.”
“It’s not your fault.” I stare at my coffee, trying to process. Lisa with her perfect blowout and her ‘Congrats, girl boss!’ energy that always felt like arsenic wrapped in a pink bow.
Maya checks her phone and stands abruptly.
“I should get back before someone notices I’m gone.
But Serena?” She pulls me into a quick, fierce hug.
“We’re family. I’ve got your back no matter what.
Lisa, Patricia, whoever did this. They picked the wrong person to mess with.
” Her loyalty feels like an anchor. But the suspicion she’s planted in me about Lisa feels like a knife.
I watch her leave, then sit there staring at my iced latte, trying to reconcile the Lisa I thought I knew with someone capable of destroying my entire life.
My phone buzzes.
Caleb:
Where the hell are you, Serena?
Shit.