Chapter 6
The Leaked Memo
Xan emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp, already dressed in a fresh, impeccably tailored suit. He looked as if he'd slept eight hours in a five-star hotel, not on a bathroom floor. He barely glanced at her as he strode to his desk, his focus already on the three tablets he was booting up.
"Coffee's there," he said, nodding to a new carafe that had magically appeared. "We have fifteen minutes before the first wave of emails hits."
The temporary alliance of the night before felt like a dream. The professional mask was back, firmly in place. Elara sat up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, and poured a cup of coffee, the bitter brew jolting her senses awake.
The "first wave of emails" was an understatement. By 6:15 a.m., their inboxes were flooded. The entire company had seen it.
It was an internal memo, leaked anonymously to the all-staff distribution list. The subject line was brutal: "The Lyon-Vance 'Compromise': Selling Aura's Soul for Profit."
The body of the email contained photos of their smartboard from the night before.
Someone had taken them through the glass walls of her office.
The photos were crystal clear, highlighting every red and blue annotation.
Her "Trojan horse" comment was circled in a mocking red digital pen.
Xan's "aspirational pricing" strategy was underlined with the caption: "Making the world a better place. .. for the 1%."
The leak was a masterstroke of corporate sabotage. It perfectly captured the most cynical aspects of their plan, framing their hard-won compromise as a corrupt bargain. It pitted Elara's loyal Aethel team against the Kronos old guard before they'd even had a chance to present a unified front.
Elara's phone started vibrating incessantly. Mark, her lead engineer, was first. "Elara, what the hell is this? Is it true? We're turning Aura into a luxury brand?"
Before she could answer, Xan's landline rang. He put it on speaker. It was his father.
"I told you she was a liability," Alistair Lyon's voice was cold fury. "Her own people are turning on her. This partnership is a circus, and you're the ringmaster. Contain this. Now. Or I will."
The line went dead.
Xan's knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of his desk. He looked at Elara, and for a split second, she saw something raw and unchecked in his eyes—not just anger, but a flicker of betrayal. He thought she had leaked it.
"The photos were taken from your office," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
"You think I did this?" Elara shot to her feet, the blanket falling away. "You think I would sabotage my own project? My own reputation? This destroys me just as much as it does you!"
"Then who?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Your team sees me as the villain. This makes me look like a predatory monster and you like a willing accomplice. They're trying to force my hand, to make me fire you to placate the masses!"
"Or," Elara countered, her mind racing, "someone on your side did it. Someone who doesn't want this merger to succeed. Someone who answers to your father."
The accusation hung in the air. The possibility that the threat was internal, from within his own ranks, seemed to hit him harder than the leak itself. The arrogant certainty in his eyes wavered, replaced by a cold, calculating suspicion.
He turned to his computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
"The leak came from a generic internal address.
Untraceable. But the access log for this floor last night…
" He pulled up a security report. "Only three keycards besides ours had access after 7 p.m. My assistant, David.
The head of security. And my Director of Strategic Finance, Ian Croft. "
Ian Croft. A Kronos lifer, fiercely loyal to Alistair. A man who had openly questioned the Aethel acquisition in the board meeting.
Xan looked at Elara, a new, grim understanding passing between them. The battle was no longer just against a deadline or each other. They had an active saboteur in their ranks. The leak wasn't just an attack; it was a declaration of war from within Kronos itself.
The forced proximity of the last 12 hours had forged a temporary truce. Now, this betrayal was welding it into something stronger. They were no longer just reluctant allies against an external threat. They were partners in a foxhole, with someone inside the trench trying to blow them up.
"Call your team," Xan commanded, his voice all business again, but with a new, sharp edge. "Damage control meeting in the main conference room in thirty minutes. We present a united front. We own the narrative." He met her gaze, his own steely with resolve. "We go after Croft.”