Chapter 32
Daisy
My stomach flips — I can’t tell whether it’s excitement or terror. I twist one of my rings around my finger until the light pink skin burns, worn raw from constant worrying.
Quinn
FBI contacts are “taking a hard look.” SEC source says informal discussions are happening. No official word yet, but Sterling’s called two numbers that are registered to law firms.
I lean back against the leather seat, watching Noah thread through traffic while keeping one eye on the rearview. The adrenaline from the presentation is draining away, leaving me shaky and wired.
Quinn
#SterlingExposed is trending. Every financial journalist in the city must be on this. We broke the internet, girl.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest—half hysteria, half triumph. We did it. After weeks of working for Sterling Financial, of pretending to be charmed by his sleazy pitches and outright lies, we finally exposed him.
“Everything okay back there?” Noah’s voice is calm, professional. I wonder if all KOAN operatives have that same steady tone, or if it’s something they teach in the military.
“Better than okay,” I say, still staring at my phone as more messages pour in from Quinn. “It’s working. Everything’s working.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Jake.
“Hey,” I answer, probably sounding breathless.
“How’s my girl holding up?” His Southern drawl thickens when he checks on me; it’s alarming how much I like it.
“I’m good. Quinn says it’s everywhere. The FBI—”
“I heard. Sterling’s in full damage-control mode. Called his lawyers, his PR team, and what looks like a crisis firm.” His voice drops. “He’s scrambling. This caught him completely off guard.”
“Where are you?”
“Following the convoy. Thompson’s got him in the back of a black sedan, probably heading to his lawyer’s office. But Daisy?” A pause. “We got him. Whatever happens next, we got the bastard. There’s no one who can shut down this investigation.”
The warmth in his voice warms my insides. Gooey and warm while talking to a guy? That’s not me. That’s my mom on any Tuesday with a date, but it’s not me. Or it wasn’t, before all of this.
Our relationship was supposed to be short-term—like this gig.
But it’d be a lie to classify our relationship as a physical indulgence.
The way he kissed me outside the auditorium, the way he positioned himself between me and Sterling’s rage, and heck, the way my body reacts to his voice on the phone—we’re not temporary.
I don’t know how long we’ll keep this going–and I know first hand from years of watching Mom that a woman can believe she’s found the one and be wrong–but I love him.
I’d be crushed if he just stopped calling or moved on.
But he said he loves me, and I believe him.
“When will you be back?” I ask.
“Couple hours. Stay put with Noah until then.”
“Jake?” The worry slips out.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
A low chuckle. “Always am, darlin’.”
The line goes dead, and I’m left staring at my reflection in the tinted window, wondering when exactly I fell–if there was a specific day, or a moment.
We haven’t talked about what comes next, but we need to.
Long distance isn’t easy, at least, based on what I’ve read.
He moves around with his assignments, but maybe I can convince him to stay with me on his downtime.
Chicago in the summer is pretty fantastic.
Back at the condo, I pace; too wired to sit. My laptop is open on the dining table and the screen shows news feeds and social posts.
“This is incredible,” I mutter, watching the view counts climb on the leaked presentation. “Someone got HD video. The audio is crystal clear.”
Noah settles in a chair with a clear view of the entrances. “We’ve got a good team. KOAN’s good at what we do.”
“Did you know the presentation would be recorded?”
He smiles. “Boss is thorough. In this day and age, someone getting video was a safe bet. Check the posts — angles all over the auditorium.”
My phone buzzes.
Brie
You’re a legend.
We all are. Team effort.
Brie
I’m bringing champagne.
I glance at Noah, who’s checking his own phone, and give him a heads up. “Brie’s on her way.”
“Copy that. Jake’s fifteen minutes out.”
I can’t stop watching the feeds, can’t stop refreshing social media to see the latest posts. Financial analysts are calling for investigations.
We did this. We took down a man related to one of the Wall Street untouchables. The sensation feels like reaching the highest level in a game. Mental confetti floats all around us.
The front door opens, and Jake walks in, still in his black suit but with his tie loosened. He looks tired but satisfied, like a predator who’s finally cornered his prey and partaken.
“How bad is it for him?” I ask without preamble.
“Bad.” Jake moves to the window, checks the street below out of habit, then turns back to me. “His lawyers are talking about damage control, but the crypto evidence you embedded in that presentation? That’s federal crime territory. Wire fraud, securities violations, potentially money laundering.”
“And murder? The suspicious deaths?”
“Cases will be opened. Guaranteed. Quinn’s contact thinks the FBI will want to investigate or at least assist with the local authorities. Multiple states means it’s FBI jurisdiction.”
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “So it’s over.”
Jake studies my face. “How do you feel about that?”
“Honestly? Relieved. And terrified. And...” I twist my ring for the thousandth time. “It feels like I’m dreaming. Like it didn’t really happen. Or he’s going to weasel out of it. It’s not like he was led away in handcuffs.”
“Give it time.” Jake sits beside me, close enough that I can smell that sandalwood scent again. “Wheels of justice turn slow. You did good today. Real good.”
“I didn’t know he was bringing me up on stage. Who does that? No warning at all.”
“Someone with zero empathy. But you handled it. You did good.”
“We all did.”
“No, Daisy. You risked everything for justice. That takes guts.”
Brie bursts in. “Victory party!” she announces, brandishing champagne. “They’re calling it the biggest scandal since Theranos.”
She pops the cork while I watch the monitors.
“Based on futures, Monday morning will be a blood bath for Sterling Financial,” I report. “And get this—two former employees just came forward claiming they have evidence.”
“The dominoes are falling,” Noah observes.
“At least, if you can believe these posts on social media,” I add. In theory, any rando could comment.
Brie pops the champagne cork and starts pouring into coffee mugs—the only clean option in the rental’s minimalist kitchen. The few glasses sit dirty in the dishwasher, waiting for us to turn it on.
“To bringing down the bad guys,” she toasts.
“To not ending up in federal prison ourselves,” I counter.
Our ceramic mugs clink, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe. The weight of pretending, of lying every day, of working for a person I knew wasn’t a good person—it’s lifting. The effect is slow, but as I take stock, I feel lighter.
“So what happens now?” Brie asks. “Do you go back to ARGUS?”
I glance at Jake, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression. We’ve got to talk after these guys clear out. What started between us was never supposed to be the kind of thing that continued past the convenient stage. But he’s worth inconvenience, and I know he feels the same way about me.
But to answer Brie, I say, “Yeah, I’ll go back to ARGUS. I owe Rhodes. It’s a rare boss who will stand by you after you kick ’em to the curb.”
“So is that San Francisco?” Brie’s question is natural curiosity.
Jake stills, his green eyes as dark as I’ve ever seen them. “You can work from wherever, right?”
“Are you expecting her to move wherever you go?” Brie asks in a way that sounds like she’s openly mocking him, but I’ve always rented so I could easily move. Everything about my life has been designed to be easily adjustable, down to refusing a partner position at ARGUS.
Unspoken messages float between Jake and I, but I’m not sure I’m reading them all correctly. Jake’s not one who is easy to misread, but maybe now I’m projecting my emotions.
“I guess we’ll figure it out as we go,” I say finally.
Jake frowns, and I want to say more, but we have people around us. Quinn messages again.
Quinn
Weaver’s in the office. Talking to someone. Planning.
Who’s she talking to?
Quinn
Not Sterling
I show my phone screen to Jake, and he jumps up and goes to his laptop, clicking away.
“What is it?” Brie asks.
“The head of human resources is talking to someone,” I say, moving closer to the kitchen table and Jake’s laptop.
He pulls up his surveillance interface.
“I didn’t know you can listen remotely.”
“Have never needed to as no one’s in the office outside of work hours. But any surveillance system has remote access capability.”
“And Quinn has access?”
“Well, we have two feeds. One is KOAN. The other is actually Sterling’s system, they’re just unaware. Ask Quinn which one she’s listening to. Confirm it’s Weaver’s office.” As my fingers tap the screen, Jake says, “Never mind. I got it.”
He taps, and Weaver’s voice comes through.
“Wait. This isn’t your personal cell. Where are you calling me from?”
The male voice isn’t one I recognize. She’s not speaking to Sterling, but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard this voice. I’d place it as older, distinguished. No noticeable accent.
“My office. No one’s here.”
Brie and Noah crowd the table.
“After today, no more.”
“We can handle–”
“Don’t be naive. Every phone you use will be tapped. Maybe not by Monday, but by the end of next week.”
“But you’ll stop–”
“You think I can stop this?” Whoever she’s talking to sounds pissed.
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing I can do, Jillian. Where’s Phillip? Is he with you?”
“No. I imagine he’s spinning.”
“Are the authorities with him?”