Chapter 17 #2
“Conditioning non-distribution of private surveillance materials on that exercise is,” Tom retorted.
“I’m not here to argue criminal theory.”
“No,” Dana said. “You’re here to launder it.”
Vale looked at me then and, finally, he stopped pretending this meeting was about clauses.
“You have built an extraordinary company, Mr. Rowe. You also have enemies, as successful men often do. Hartwell is visible, politically sensitive, and financially ambitious.” His gaze flicked, briefly, to the windows behind us. “Perhaps overly ambitious.”
With a hard swallow, I sat back. Hartwell was not the only project Rowe Structural had ever taken that mattered, but it was the largest civic contract we had ever won.
We had expanded teams for it, reallocated capital and taken on debt.
We’d put our name, our balance sheet, and no small portion of our next few years behind it.
Walking away would not kill Rowe Structural overnight.
I was too wealthy and the company too diversified for one contract to finish us completely, but it would wound us badly.
Vale opened a slim black folder and turned it toward me.
Tom said, “Do not—”
I looked anyway.
The first photograph was from outside Avery’s apartment. My car. The second from Marcel’s. The third from the sidewalk outside Rowe Tower. The fourth from my office, taken at a distance through glass, blurred but not meaningless.
The fifth made my heart drop.
A still image, captured from above and at an angle, the city lights fractured against the glass of my office.
It was an unambiguous drone shot featuring Avery and me against the window after hours, her body pressed to the glass, mine behind hers, my hands on her hips.
The image was slightly grainy, but not nearly grainy enough.
Dana swore under her breath.
Benjamin went silent in a way that frightened even me.
Tom’s voice was low. “That image was taken illegally.”
Vale closed the folder. “I have no knowledge of how any material was obtained.”
“Convenient,” Dana said.
“Also irrelevant to the question before Mr. Rowe.”
I did not move.
Vale must have mistaken that for hesitation, because he leaned forward slightly.
“No one is asking you to end your personal relationship. That is not our concern. Withdraw from Hartwell, and the material disappears. Refuse, and the public may decide whether or not a man exercising this kind of judgment should be trusted with a civic landmark.”
Tom said, “You understand you’re threatening distribution of intimate images.”
“I am explaining reputational consequences.”
Benjamin tilted his head. “Do you practice saying things that disgusting in mirrors, or does it come naturally for you?”
Vale’s eyes moved to him. “Mr. Mercer, I appreciate loyalty, but loyalty is expensive.”
“Not as expensive as underestimating me.”
I lifted one hand, and Benjamin stopped.
Vale looked back at me. “You have forty-eight hours.”
“No,” I said.
His smile faded for the first time.
“No?” he repeated.
“No.”
Tom shifted beside me. Dana’s eyes cut to my face. Benjamin became very still again.
Vale recovered quickly. “Perhaps you should take time to review the financial implications.”
“I know the financial implications.”
“Then you know the loss of Hartwell could be significant.”
“Catastrophic, if mishandled,” I replied. “But not fatal.”
“Public exposure of the relationship would make it worse.”
“Yes.”
“And still, your answer is no?”
“My answer is that this meeting is over.”
Vale studied me for a moment, and I saw the calculation behind his eyes.
Men like him believed everyone had a price because men like him did.
They understood greed, pride, fear, and leverage.
They did not understand that I would risk Hartwell and my reputation before I let them use Avery to control me.
He stood. “I hope you do not confuse defiance with strength, Mr. Rowe.”
“You threatened Avery and tried to extort my company. I’ll see you in court.”
Benjamin opened the door before Vale could reach for it. “Security will escort you out.”
Vale paused at the threshold. “You have forty-eight hours.”
“No,” I said again. “You have until my legal team finishes drafting my formal response.”
His eyes narrowed and then he left.
For one second, no one spoke.
Then Tom exhaled so hard his legal pad shifted. “That was extortion. That was absolutely extortion.”
Dana looked at me. “And illegal surveillance. And blackmail.”
Benjamin held up his tablet. “And drone use in a restricted urban flight corridor, if the footage is real.”
“It’s real,” I said.
Tom began gathering papers. “We file for injunctive relief preemptively. Preservation letters. Criminal referral if you’re willing. Quiet calls to the mayor’s office before Vale’s people spin this. We need a crisis statement drafted now.”
Benjamin’s voice was cold. “I want the source.”
“You’ll have it,” I assured him.
“No,” he pushed back. “I want the source before they know we’re hunting.”
That was not Benjamin the assistant. That was Benjamin the man who had decided someone had threatened his household.
Dana looked at me. “You need to tell Avery.”
“I know.”
“And you need not to decide for her before you do.”
I looked at the closed folder still sitting on the table.
“I’m withdrawing.” My words brought all movement in the room to a halt.
Dana stared at me. Benjamin’s head turned slowly.
Tom went pale in a new and specific way. “From Hartwell?”
“Yes.”
“Callum,” Dana whispered.
“I won’t let them use her.”
Benjamin’s expression changed with alarming speed from fury to something worse. “You are making a decision in a room where the person most affected is not present.”
“I know what she’ll say.”
“No, you do not,” Dana barked sharply. “You know what you’re afraid she’ll say.”
I turned toward the door. “Bring her to my office.”
Benjamin did not move for half a second. Then he nodded once and left. Avery came to my office minutes later. I closed the door behind her and locked it.
“What happened?” she asked.
I told her everything. Avery listened without sitting. Her face went white again, then red, then very still.
When I finished, she said, “They have pictures of us having sex.”
My chest tightened. “Yes.”
“In your office.”
“Yes.”
“Against the window.”
I forced myself to hold her gaze. “Yes.”
She turned away and covered her mouth with one hand. I took one step toward her, then stopped.
“I’m sorry, Avery.”
She laughed once, brittle and awful. “You didn’t fly the drone.”
“No. But I put you in that position.”
Her hand dropped. She turned back to face me. “I put myself there too.”
“Avery—”
“No.” Her voice shook, but her chin lifted. “Do not do that thing where you take all the blame because you’re older and richer and broader in the shoulders.”
I swallowed hard.
“I’m withdrawing from Hartwell,” I said.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Avery stared at me. “What?”
“I’ll exercise the withdrawal provision.”
“Because of the photos?”
“Because of you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means I choose you.”
For one foolish second, I expected to see relief on her face, but I should have known better. In that moment, Avery looked at me like I had just insulted her.
“What do you mean, you choose me?” she asked.
“I won’t let them expose you.”
“They can expose me either way.”
“If I withdraw, they won’t.”
“You believe them?”
“No. But it buys us—”
“It buys them proof that I’m leverage they can use against you.
” She crossed the room toward me, anger bringing color back into her face.
“Callum, think. You will have me either way. Either you give up Hartwell and they own you forever, or you fight and risk the contract when this comes out. But in both versions, I’m still here. ”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it now. I will mean it equally as much later. No matter what.”
“If the photos go public—”