Chapter 34 – Rowan
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rowan
She left.
With the dog.
My hand drops from the doorframe, fingers flexing once before going still, and my jaw tightens as I stare at the space she walked through.
To her, this counts as restraint, and leaving before things get complicated gives her the illusion of control, as if distance changes the outcome instead of delaying it. A cleaner version of events, something easier for her to justify. She thinks that she’s protecting me.
My teeth press together as that idea locks into place.
I just stood in front of an entire room and made a decision that could cost me everything, and I did it without hesitation.
If it came down to it again, I would make the same choice.
And somehow, she’s decided she gets to determine what I can afford to lose.
I exhale slowly, my gaze still fixed on the doorway.
No.
That was never her decision to make.
If she understood me at all, she would know there is nothing she could do, no mistake she could make, that would ever make me choose those men over her.
I drag a hand down my face and let it settle at my jaw for a second before dropping it.
My head is still tight from the migraine, the dull pressure having settled behind my eyes and along my temples, but the anger cuts through it cleanly.
Fucking Camden.
The man has never been capable of winning anything on merit. He went looking for leverage, and the partners listened to what he found.
They didn’t bother verifying anything beyond what fit neatly into the narrative Camden handed them. They sat there and discussed her like she was something that needed to be managed before it affected their bottom line.
I push away from the door and move into the room, already reaching for my phone because this is not a situation that gets to sit unresolved.
Three messages sit at the top of the screen.
Harris.
Masden.
Hale.
I don’t open any of them, because anything they have to say right now is either justification or damage control, and I am not interested in either.
Instead, I scroll until I reach the names that understand exactly what I need.
Deacon.
Rhys.
Most people think the IOU network is a rumor, something exaggerated and passed between students and associates who like the idea of power more than they understand it.
They think it is a handful of whispered favors and a few quiet exchanges between people who know how to keep their mouths shut.
They are wrong.
It is not a rumor, and it was never meant to be one.
I open a group thread and type, I need eyes. Now.
The reply comes from Deacon first.
You get arrested, or are you just bored?
Rhys follows without delay.
No way he’s bored with Tessa.
I press call before either of them can add anything else.
Rhys answers first. “Are we planning a breakup or scoping out a new dinner spot?”
“This is serious,” I reply, my focus narrowing as everything settles into place.
Deacon laughs quietly. “Okay, someone pissed you off.”
“Yes,” I say, already moving toward the desk and pulling up what I need on my laptop. “The partners, they humiliated Tessa.”
Silence hits the line immediately, the kind that only happens when both of them are recalculating at the same time.
Rhys exhales slowly, and I can hear the shift in him, the moment he moves from whatever he was doing into this.
“Start talking.”
I lean back against the chair, my grip tightening slightly around the phone as I replay the events.
“Camden went digging through clinic records,” I say, my jaw tightening, “pulled files I thought I had buried for her, and handed them over.”
I pause for half a second. “They didn’t verify anything. They just… used it.”
Deacon’s voice cuts in. “Publicly?”
“Yes.”
Rhys mutters something under his breath that I don’t quite catch, and Deacon goes quiet for a second before responding.
“Interesting,” he says, and his tone drops just enough that it stops sounding like commentary and starts sounding like intent.
That one word is enough.
It means he’s already sorting through leverage, deciding which threads to pull first.
“What do you need?” Rhys asks. He can already see where this is going.
I pull up the files, opening windows and lining everything up in front of me.
“I want everything.”
There’s a short pause on the line.
“Define everything,” Rhys says.
“Financials,” I say, already thinking through where those records sit and who has access. “Client conflicts. Settlement manipulation. Any case they’ve buried, any deal they’ve pushed through that doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.”
I pull open another file, scanning it quickly, my focus narrowing as the pieces start to fall into place. Who can we use in their firm to get these records? Someone in the courthouse?
“Anything that gives me leverage,” I finish. “Anything that puts them in a position where they don’t get to pretend this was acceptable.”
Deacon lets out a low whistle. “You’re not planning a conversation.”
“No.”
There’s no reason in pretending I’m interested in resolution.
Rhys exhales again, slower this time. “Jeez.”
“They wanted to question my judgment,” I continue. “Now we’re going to question theirs.”
Deacon chuckles again. “I like this plan.”
“Good.” Because this is the part most people misunderstand.
The IOU network is not a collection of favors.
It is a map.
Every person inside it sits somewhere in a chain of leverage. Information flows through it constantly.
A clerk who owes a favor sends a document.
A banker who needed help once flags a transaction.
A registrar who didn’t want a scandal quietly opens a file.
None of them talk about it.
They simply repay what they owe.
Deacon understands this better than anyone.
“All right,” he says. “Let’s break the board.”
I push away from the desk and begin pacing slowly.
“Hale” I say. “She’s a senior partner. Start there.”
I can hear Rhys already typing. “Got it.”
Deacon doesn’t wait either. “I’ll hit the court records and disciplinary logs.
Judges, clerks, anyone who’s ever complained about her quietly.
Anyone who filed something that never made it past review.
” He pauses. “What about Harris? People like Harris don’t stay clean forever,” he adds. “They just stay protected.”
“Agreed. Look into him.”
“And Camden?” Deacon asks.
I stop pacing. “Especially him.”
There’s a short laugh on his end. “Oh, that one will be easy.”
Of course, it will.
Men like Camden don’t just make mistakes, they accumulate them, and they rely on the assumption that no one is motivated enough to line them all up at once.
Rhys speaks again, quieter now. “I’ll open the ledger.”