30. Theo
THEO
I'm reviewing game footage when Azaria bursts through the front door like she's being chased by photographers. Which, knowing her afternoon plans, might actually be the case.
"I got her."
She drops her bag on the kitchen counter and pulls out her phone, face flushed with adrenaline and something that looks dangerously close to satisfaction.
"Got who?"
"Margot. I recorded everything." She waves the phone like it's a trophy. "She confessed to the whole thing—Massimo, the setup, and her role."
I set my laptop aside and stand. "Play it."
"I'm calling Logan first. We need him to hear this."
Twenty minutes later, Logan arrives with his laptop bag. We gather around the kitchen island while Azaria connects her phone to my speaker system.
"Before we start," Logan says, pulling out a legal pad, "tell me the context. How did you get her to admit this?"
"I let her think I was desperate for friendship, made her comfortable, then confronted her directly when she was relaxed." Azaria's voice carries the edge of someone who's just won a chess match they've been planning for weeks. "She cracked completely."
"Good. Let's hear it."
The recording starts with restaurant ambient noise—conversations, clinking silverware, the controlled chaos of an expensive lunch service. Azaria's voice comes through clear and warm, playing the role of vulnerable friend perfectly.
Then Margot's confession begins.
"I didn't think it would get this big."
Logan's pen stops moving across his pad as Margot's voice continues through the speaker.
"He said—Massimo said it would just be a small scandal. Something to make you step back from the industry for a while, take a break. He said you'd be fine, that your family has enough money and connections to weather anything."
"Jesus," I mutter under my breath.
"He promised me representation with his agency, introductions to the right people. He said all I had to do was make sure you were in the right place at the right time, and that someone would tip off security about suspicious activity."
Logan's writing faster now, capturing every detail as Margot explains the jewelry, her belief that it would only be a minor drug scandal, her shock at the trafficking charges.
When the recording ends with Azaria's parting shot about never wanting to see Margot again, Logan sets down his pen and looks up at both of us.
"This is it. This is what we needed."
"It's enough?" Azaria asks.
"Combined with the financial records we already have tracking payments from Massimo's accounts to Margot and the others? It's more than enough." Logan closes his laptop. "But we have to move fast."
"How fast?"
"Tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest." He stands and starts packing his equipment. "The moment Margot realizes what just happened—and she will, probably within hours—she'll call Massimo. His legal team will start damage control immediately."
"What kind of damage control?" I ask.
"Evidence disappearance. Witnesses recant. Financial records get buried under legal challenges that take months to resolve." Logan slings his bag over his shoulder. "These people have been playing this game a lot longer than we have, and they're very good at making problems go away."
Azaria crosses her arms. "So what do we do?"
"We take this to someone who can't be bought or intimidated. I have contacts at the FBI who've been tracking international art and jewelry trafficking. They'll want this recording, especially if it connects to their existing investigations."
"The FBI?" The weight of that hits me immediately. "This becomes federal."
"It already is federal. The trafficking charges, the international scope, the money laundering—this was always bigger than a local scandal." Logan heads toward the door. "I'm making calls tonight. By tomorrow morning, we should know if they'll take the case."
After he leaves, I turn to Azaria. She's still standing by the kitchen island, staring at her phone like she can't quite believe what just happened.
"How do you feel?"
"Terrified," she says without hesitation. "And furious. And relieved." She looks up at me. "Is that normal?"
"Probably." I move closer, studying her face. "You just took down someone who tried to destroy your life. I think you're allowed to feel complicated about it."
"What if Logan's wrong? What if it's not enough?"
"Then we find another way."
She nods, but I can see the doubt creeping in around the edges of her confidence. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving behind the reality of what comes next.
"Theo?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For believing me when nobody else would."
I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together.
"What? Nonsense. We still need to talk though.”
I guide her to the couch, making sure she sits before I start. This conversation requires her full attention, and I need to see her face when I lay out what's coming.
"Before Logan makes those calls, you need to understand what happens next."
She settles back against the cushions, hands folded in her lap. "I'm listening."
"The moment the FBI gets involved, this becomes a circus.
Not the tabloid nonsense we've been dealing with—a federal investigation circus.
Every move you make gets scrutinized. Every relationship you've ever had gets examined.
They'll dig into your finances, your family's finances, your travel records going back years. "
"Okay."
"That's just the government side. Massimo won't sit quietly while his empire gets dismantled.
He'll come back harder than anything we've seen so far.
Character assassination, financial pressure on anyone who supports you, legal challenges that tie up evidence for months.
He'll make sure every dirty story about you gets amplified while the truth is stuck in legal proceedings. "
Azaria's expression doesn't change. "What else?"
"Your family will get pulled into this. Your father's business dealings, your mother's estate, every Emerson Luxury Group transaction that might connect to international art or jewelry markets. They'll become collateral damage in ways you can't control."
She straightens slightly, but her voice stays level. "Anything else?"
"The media storm will be unlike anything you've experienced. Federal investigations make headlines for months, sometimes years. Every court appearance, every filing, every witness statement becomes front-page news. Your life stops being your own completely."
I pause, watching her process everything I've just dumped on her.
"And there's no guarantee we will win. Rich men like Massimo don't go down easy.
He has resources, connections, and decades of experience making problems disappear.
Even with Margot's confession, even with financial records, he could still walk away clean while you're left dealing with the aftermath. "
Azaria sits quietly for a long moment, her fingers tracing patterns on her jeans. When she looks up, her eyes are clear and determined.
"Are you trying to talk me out of this?"
"I'm making sure you understand the cost."
"I understand." She stands and walks to the window, looking out at the photographers still camped across the street. "Do you want to know what I understood the moment I heard Margot's voice on that recording?"
I wait.
"I understood that Massimo didn't just try to destroy my career. He tried to destroy me. My reputation, my relationships, my sense of reality—everything." She turns back to face me. "He made me doubt my own memory, made me question whether I was losing my mind or if everyone around me was lying."
"Azaria—"
"No quiet settlements. No careful image rehabilitation. No slow climb back to respectability." Her voice gains strength with each word. "I want my name cleared completely. I want his name attached to trafficking charges. I want Margot and everyone else who participated to face consequences."
She moves closer, and I can see the steel beneath her elegant exterior.
"I don't care about the media storm. I don't care about the legal proceedings or the financial scrutiny or any of it. I care about the truth."
I study her face, looking for hesitation or doubt. There isn't any.
"This will cost you everything."
"It already has."
"I want everyone to see exactly who Massimo Lombardi really is, and I want them to see it in a courtroom where he can't buy his way out or intimidate witnesses into silence."
I watch her pace back toward the kitchen, noting the way her shoulders carry tension she won't acknowledge. The shadows under her eyes have deepened since this morning, purple smudges that makeup can't quite hide anymore.
"Are you sleeping?"
"I'm sleeping fine."
"Azaria, it doesn’t look like it.”
She waves a dismissive hand without turning around. "I got a few hours last night. I'm running on adrenaline anyway."
"The tea I had delivered, is it not working?"
Now she does turn, eyebrows raised in that particular way that means I've overstepped some invisible boundary. "You're monitoring my tea consumption now?"
"I'm monitoring the fact that you look like you haven't slept properly in weeks."
"Don't worry about it." She moves to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water like the conversation is over. "I'll sleep when this is finished."
I nod, but the knot in my stomach tightens instead of loosening.
She's deflecting again, using that bright, determined energy to avoid whatever's keeping her awake at three in the morning.
I've heard her moving around the house—footsteps in the hallway, the soft sound of the television turning on and off, cabinet doors opening and closing in the kitchen.
"Once Logan makes contact with the FBI, everything accelerates," she continues, unscrewing the cap with more force than necessary.
"Margot will panic, probably call Massimo within hours.
His lawyers will start working damage control, trying to discredit the recording or claim it was obtained illegally. "
"Azaria—"
"Which is why we need to move fast. Get ahead of their response, make sure the recording reaches the right people before they can bury it under legal challenges."
I study her profile as she talks, noting the slight tremor in her hands that she's hiding by keeping them busy. She's running on pure determination and caffeine, pushing herself past exhaustion because stopping means thinking, and thinking means confronting whatever's eating at her from the inside.
The worry sits heavy in my chest—not just about her sleep, but about everything she's not telling me.
About whether we can actually clear her name before Massimo's people find another way to destroy the evidence.
About whether there's ever going to be a real future between us, or if she'll keep pulling back every time we get close enough for it to matter.
"You know you can tell me anything."
She takes a long drink of water, then sets the bottle down with careful precision. "There's nothing to tell."
"Zari—"
"Don't worry about it, Theo. Really." She offers me a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine."