4. March To The Gallows
4
March To The Gallows
ALICE
“Look, Mr. Hart, I challenged their sources, but there’s not a single reporter worth their salt who would give those up. I bought you twenty-four hours while the editor reviews things. Maybe forty-eight if we’re lucky. That’s the best I can do. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, Stacy,” Grey muttered, voice uncharacteristically soft. He wasn’t defeated, per se, but it was as close as I’d ever seen him get. It was oddly unsettling, especially with the entire board focused on him where he still sat at the head of the table.
“Of course. Call me when you know where you’re going with this. I’ve got your back.”
“Appreciate you,” he said as he stood and leaned forward to disconnect the line.
There was a high probability there had never been a more perfect example of the phrase you could hear a pin drop than the silence that followed. Greyson braced one arm beneath the other, covering his mouth as he stared at the conference phone.
It lingered for far longer than comfortable, everyone having evidently said their piece before we called Stacy. Greyson was the one to finally blow out a harsh breath and declare, “I will, of course, be stepping down until the internal investigation confirms my innocence.”
A throat cleared from the enormous flatscreen mounted on the wall where the four out-of-state directors stared back at us. Emmaline and Ellington, Greyson’s cousins, were together in one frame, looking uncharacteristically rattled. Like an advertisement for their mother’s Norwegian bloodline, the siblings bore matching blond hair and blue eyes. It was only the subtle golden undertone in their fair skin that hinted that any trace of Hart had snuck through their genetics. Their concern was the kindest emotion on the screen—the others sharing some kind of skeptical anger, evidently directed at Greyson. I couldn’t blame them, of course. Their asses were all on the line today.
It was the baby of the empire to raise her voice. “I believe that’s preemptive, Greyson. Prepare for that, but I don’t think you should bow down until allegations are leveled, and perhaps not until they’re presented with proper evidence.”
“It would be protocol?—”
“To suspend you in the face of proper charges, yes, but I agree with Emmaline,” Ellington cut Greyson’s protest off. “We have the advantage of starting the investigation now, but that doesn’t mean you need to bow out for some baseless?—”
“He could interfere,” snapped Malachi, the chief of HR. “This is an unfortunate formality that we need to adhere to so Reggie can assure stockholders we’ve been thorough if and when the allegations come to light.”
“Right, but him running away looks guilty,” Ellington argued.
“It looks pragmatic,” Reggie countered on the tail of a pained sigh. “Fearless leader or not, he is the one being questioned and, therefore, the one who should cooperate with any investigation.”
Greyson’s eyes met mine for the briefest flash, like he was attempting to communicate silently. The bastard was in luck, though, because whatever it was he had buried in his personal system, I hadn’t been able to touch it. Suspicious? Yes. Expected from someone of his caliber? Also, yes. As for my intuition? I didn’t think whatever files he had beyond company borders were any of my business. As long as he wasn’t siphoning off the company, I didn’t give a shit what kind of trouble he got into in his off hours.
“I have nothing to hide from you—this company is our legacy. Trust me when I tell you, death would be more appealing than betraying what we’ve built here. If me lying low is what this ship needs to endure the storm coming, that’s what I’ll do,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Unable to believe the fact that I was about to aid the man who had given me gray hairs before thirty, I cleared my throat. “I think lying low is a poor strategy, given the baseless accusations. I think the company has to follow the expected protocol to ensure both shareholders and the public that we’re doing our due diligence and that we don’t have a corrupt king leading this empire, but Greyson should do anything but lie low.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Rhodes, we should defer to someone more experienced,” Reggie interjected, glaring at me like his eyes could tell me to shut up when his surroundings didn’t permit it.
“I’d quite like to hear her finish,” Tiffany countered, a soft smile playing on her lips as she glanced between me and Greyson, who gave me one curt nod of approval.
Clearing my throat, I continued. “Lying low screams, ‘Something is wrong.’ Continuing on with your life—making public appearances on behalf of Hart Investments or your favorite charities and entertaining the press with exclusive interviews because you need their support now more than ever—will encourage the public to see you as innocent.”
“Just carry on, business as usual?” Ollie asked.
“Outside the office?” I clarified. When he nodded, I did the same. “Yes. As for the family,” I looked at Ollie before glancing quickly between the surviving Harts, starting with Emmaline and Ellington, then to Reggie, and then his wife, Vivienne, before finishing my thought. “Being seen with them on personal time will be just as invaluable because it tells the public they don’t believe the accusations and trust you implicitly.”
“I agree,” Tiffany declared, a subtle, smug smile on her face as she studied Greyson. Something unspoken passed between them before she looked back at me expectantly.
“Then why is he stepping down?” Emmaline pressed.
“Valid question,” I said, hoping to encourage her to keep throwing her voice out there. “It’s temporary. The internal investigation is just to CYA, as is his brief vacation from corporate life. From there, we all turn our attention to a multi-layered press tour to shine a light on the real Greyson Hart.”
“Oh, he’ll love that,” Ollie muttered sarcastically from behind the fist he was propped against. Greyson shot him a glare as Ellington snorted on screen.
“He doesn’t have to do much,” I added, suppressing a smile at his expense. “I already have our girls ghostwriting stackable content we can send to our trusted media contacts.”
A sense of bewilderment filled the room as everyone turned their attention to me as if they had never bothered to notice my presence in the corner before today. Only Greyson, Ollie, Emma, and Ellington looked nonplussed as Greyson held a hand out in my direction as if to say, ‘I told you so.’
Swallowing, I added, “Oliver, would you be comfortable with us featuring Greyson at one of Mattie’s events?”
“Of course,” Ollie answered, nodding like I shouldn’t have even asked.
Simultaneously, Greyson barked, “ Absolutely not. ” When Oliver’s and my eyes snapped to him, brows arched, he cleared his throat. “I’m not exploiting a child to protect my image.”
“She’s a Hart,” Ollie hedged gently. “Her birthright puts her in the spotlight, no matter what, Grey. She’s destined to be loved and loathed at the whims of the press, and they already run her name through the tabloids. At least this would be a narrative we could control.”
Remaining silent, I looked between the two brothers as Greyson wet his lips before insisting, “No. I’m not comfortable putting her in their crosshairs.”
I nodded, knowing him well enough to recognize when a fight was lost. “That’s fine. I have a half a dozen other angles already in the works.”
“I still think he should wait for the article to run before stepping down,” Emmaline pressed. She was a senior at the same university in Washington that my baby brother Maverick attended but held herself like she’d been sitting in on these meetings since infancy. Groomed to perfection by two generations of Harts. Her blood bought her seat, but her mind bought everyone’s focus.
It was our COO, Tiffany, who blew out a harsh breath with a counter. “I understand what you’re saying, Ms. Hart, but if we do it now, it looks like we’re ahead of the storm. Should we wait and do it after?—”
“They can use our hesitation as evidence of a bias and run additional articles about the company’s nepotistic nature shielding an American prince from criminal investigation.” Aside from The Titan, that was their favorite moniker for him. “The reporters will have documented speaking to me—along with several other staffers—today, which means delay or not, the clock is ticking.” Yet again, the entire board stared at me like I’d grown a second head, but Tiffany nodded solemnly. Yes, you self-important motherfuckers, I’ve been sitting in this room for two years, taking notes for Greyson.
“Protocol would dictate that security walk you out, Grey,” Reggie announced morosely as anger oozed from his pores, peppered brows dipped in the middle. Vivienne was watching with silent fury, although I wasn’t sure if it was in defense of or directed toward her nephew.
“That’s way overkill.”
“It doesn’t need to be a march to the gallows.”
“I thought Ms. Rhodes said it should look like we believe he’s innocent.”
The room exploded in a storm of protests, and I watched as they increased in outrage. How he could be such an ass and inspire such unwavering loyalty was beyond me. Clearing my throat, I offered, “I’ll walk him out through the evac route.”
Only, I wasn’t the only one with the thought, my eyes snapping to Ollie and then to Mike, our head of security, as they said the same thing.
Nodding, Greyson ground his teeth before saying, “I’ll grab my things.” As he prowled out of the room, he looked more like a man preparing for battle than one doing the walk of shame.
I’m not sure what I expected to find when I emerged from Greyson’s home office, but it was probably in the ballpark of him looking pissed while brooding on the back terrace with his phone in his hand. What I certainly hadn’t expected was a shirtless Greyson with his admittedly delicious ass in the sand, building an impressively tall, albeit crumbling, sandcastle with Mattie and Beau.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen the man with his guard down, but it was unexpected, given his current circumstances. It also wasn’t the first time I’d appreciated all the hard lines of his honed body or that bright flash of his understated smile before remembering who exactly I was ogling. Kicking myself, I looked to my feet before glancing around to find Ollie jamming to One Republic’s I Ain’t Worried where he worked the grill. They’d dismissed the staff for the day to clear the house for candid conversations. NDAs or not, the more people in the know, the more likely we were to have a leak.
The day had been long. Made longer when Max called and told me he needed me to plug the USB he was sending via courier into the Hart House network. Stacy would plant our talons in her company’s as well. Her loyalty to the Harts could end her career, while mine was protected despite my imminent departure.
Under Ollie’s authorization and Max’s signed nondisclosure agreement, we’d started digging and searching for holes. I’d watched the man take down corrupt senators because their sons were girlfriend-abusing shitbags. If anybody could get us answers for what we were up against, Max could.
Sidling up next to Ollie—who was, mercifully, fully clothed—I peered over his shoulder and grinned at the lobster tails on the grill. “Still impressed you know how to cook.”
He shrugged. “Always hated having people in my house. Learning was a given.”
“Fair. How’s he doing?” I asked, glancing out toward his brother.
Shaking his head, Ollie said, “I dunno. Didn’t say much on the ride home.”
“He’s in his head?”
“The depths of it, apparently.”
As if on cue, I watched Greyson bury himself in his thoughts, staring unseeingly down at the sand for a long beat before Mattie leaped at him, and his reflexes jerked him into action to catch her. Sometimes, I hated that my mind seemed hard-wired to defend the truth, no matter who benefited. Because the man on that beach was just an uncle. An uncle who would do anything to protect the kids now attacking him in a synchronized assault that knocked him backward into the sand. And through all our days spent enduring each other’s company, I couldn’t fathom him betraying them.
Captain lifted his black and gold head from where he watched them on the patio sectional before giving a low ‘woof’ from his chest. He leaped off the couch, stalking into the house a beat before the bell rang.
“I got it,” I assured Oliver with a hand on his shoulder before following our canine companion to the front door.
I opened it to a second courier with a slim package already outstretched. After thanking him and signing, I glanced at the box to see my name printed on the label with Jorogumo Defense on the sender’s side. Max . Peeling the box open, I tilted it to pour the contents into my palm, only to catch an old-school flip phone.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, turning it over in my fingers a beat before the thing rang. A chill coasted over my spine before I brought it to my ear.
“Who are you with?” Max’s authoritative baritone came through clear as a bell the instant the line clicked to life. Glancing over my shoulder, I checked to make sure the Harts were where I left them through the wall of windows overlooking the ocean.
“I’m alone.”
“I have good news and bad news.”
“Shoot,” I said, watching as Greyson dove into the ocean to escape his tiny assailants.
“Suit Daddy isn’t stealing from the company. Not as far as I can tell, and I’m kind of the shit.” Max snorted at his own joke, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Okay, what’s the bad news?”
“There’s malware buried on his network, and you’re not going to like who put it there.”