51. Grayson
51
GRAYSON
T he calm doesn’t last. I wake up to sunlight, Margot’s hair fanned out across my chest, her breathing slow and even. The city is unusually quiet beyond the glass, wrapped in soft morning gold. For a few seconds, I let myself believe this is the world we get to live in now, peaceful, private, ours.
Then my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Olivia: Emergency. She went live early. Check your email NOW.
My heart doesn’t race. It freezes. I slide out of bed without waking Margot, grab my laptop, and sit at the edge of the living room couch. Within seconds, the screen is filled with bold red banners from three major media outlets, accompanied by something even worse: brEAKING: Leaked Client File Exposes Matchmaking Fraud - Alleged internal records from Perfectly Matched reveal politically motivated client pairing.
There’s a blurry screenshot of a confidential profile. A side-by-side of Senator Mallory and étienne. Notes in the margin: Public chemistry metrics. Politically advantageous. Timing for press drop: post-bill announcement. All of it doctored. All of it fake. But it looks real enough to sink us.
Olivia storms into the penthouse less than an hour later, tablet in one hand, iced coffee in the other, fury radiating off her in waves.
"It was a full data package," she says, slamming the tablet onto the counter. "Embedded metadata. Multiple forged timestamps. Her team leaked it through an influencer-slash-investigative account and framed it like a whistleblower inside our system."
I scroll through the responses already flooding in. News anchors speculating. Comment sections exploding. Clients calling. Investors stalling. Olivia continues:
"They claim the Mallory–étienne match was a PR stunt. That we manipulated the outcome for political gain. And the file… it’s sleek. It has just enough truth in the margins to sell the lie."
Margot appears from the hallway in leggings and one of my old shirts, hair pulled back, her face still flushed from sleep. She takes one look at the screen and exhales sharply. "She finally did it. She made it personal."
"No," I say, locking eyes with her. "She made it war."
We gather in the executive war room of our Perfectly Matched’s HQ. Olivia’s team has already pulled preliminary logs. Priya’s coordinating the client outreach plan. Crane arrives last, stepping into the room like he owns it, despite being the newest ally at the table.
He nods to me, then to Margot. "Well. This escalated."
"Understatement of the year," Olivia mutters.
Crane folds his coat over the back of a chair, retrieves a sleek black folder from his briefcase, and sets it in front of me.
"Inside, you’ll find a timeline of Eleanor’s strategic exits from PulseMatch’s board, including two dummy companies used to funnel funds into her PR machine. You’ll also find an older document, an NDA she signed while still on Perfectly Matched’s oversight committee." He pauses. "That NDA includes a clause barring her from accessing or recreating internal matchmaking data."
I glance up. "Meaning?"
"Meaning she just broke it. In a very public, very prosecutable way."
A breath of silence sweeps the room.
"We can sue her," Margot says slowly, her voice still edged in disbelief.
"No," Olivia corrects. "We can end her."
Crane leans back slightly, steepling his fingers. “We have the data trail, the NDA violation, and a consultant tie-in. That’s a trifecta of exposure. We release it correctly, and Eleanor’s credibility collapses under her own hubris.”
Olivia doesn’t look up from her tablet. “We’ll need to time the release perfectly. Leverage the momentum of the leak before it festers but wait just long enough to collect every client-facing response. I’m mapping the social reaction curve now.”
“Hold a press conference?” I ask.
Margot shakes her head. “Too defensive. Too reactive.”
Crane raises an eyebrow. “Then what?”
“A controlled release,” she says. “We tell the story before they do. Not just about the file, but about us. Our values. Our clients. Frame the leak as a violation of human dignity, not just data theft.”
Olivia pauses, then gives a grudging nod. “It’s bold. Emotional. People eat that up.”
“I’m not looking for sympathy,” Margot says, her voice calm but resolute. “I want people to understand what we stand for. That our matches are more than numbers and metrics. They’re sacred.”
Crane glances between us. “You’re both prepared to put your faces on this? Not just statements or anonymous sources, you two. The couple. The founders. The pregnant CEO.”
I meet Margot’s gaze across the table. “You okay with that?”
She exhales. “We’re already in it. Might as well win it out loud.”
A small smile tugs at Olivia’s lips. “Then I’ll prep the digital release. We go visual. A public letter, followed by the forensic breakdown of Eleanor’s forgery. Screenshots. Video assets. Crane’s document. No drama. Just hard truth.”
“And the legal side?” I ask, turning to Crane.
“I’ll have our counsel file notice tomorrow morning,” he replies smoothly. “Cease and desist followed by a breach-of-contract claim. If she responds, we escalate.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Margot asks.
“Then she goes down silent. Dignity optional.”
***
The hours blur after that. Legal reviews. Data trails. Olivia tracks down the signature embedded in the leaked document’s coding, a small, almost invisible hex tag. It matches one of Eleanor’s former digital consultants. The consultant was quietly rehired last month by a marketing firm connected to PulseMatch.
"It’s there," Olivia says, pointing to the screen. "Digital fingerprint. Time-stamped. Verifiable."
Margot stands at my side, hands clenched around her mug. She hasn’t said much, but I know what she’s feeling. This isn’t about one file, one scandal, one press hit. This is about the future. About whether or not our daughter will inherit something worth believing in.
I look around the table. Crane meets my gaze. "Your next move decides your legacy. Don’t go small."
"We won’t," I say.
I turn to Olivia. "Prepare a full press release. We go public tomorrow. We expose her, ethically, methodically, and loudly. And we let the world see who the real threat to privacy is."
Margot’s hand finds mine under the table. We squeeze once. Then we get to work. Because now it’s not about survival. It’s about legacy. And this time, we’re the ones holding the match.