Chapter 10 Norah
NORAH
By Sunday night, Norah had stopped pretending she was fine.
The weekend had blurred into spreadsheets and coffee cups, the hum of her laptop filling every silence she didn’t want to think about.
She’d combed through county records, cross-referenced property deeds, and built a private file for Joey labeled Marketing Review—Archive, uploading it piece by piece to a hidden cloud folder.
Each time she hit save, the progress bar crawled slower. Each time she blinked, she swore she saw a shadow at the edge of her window.
She told herself it was exhaustion. Or guilt that she’d dragged a man like Marshall Kelley back into her life.
By the time she finally closed her laptop, the clock read 11:32. The house was too quiet, her thoughts too loud.
Norah stood by the front window, arms wrapped around herself. Georgetown was quiet this time of night—church bells long finished, restaurants closed, the occasional cab passing on wet pavement.
She should have felt safe.
Except… The black suburban had been parked on the opposite side of the street since early this morning. Same spot. Same silhouette. The rain had washed the license plate too blurry to read, but the driver hadn’t moved.
Norah’s first thought had been coincidence. Her second, concern. And by the third, her stomach had gone cold.
She turned off the lamp and the TV, letting the house fall into shadow. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound.
Then she grabbed her phone.
Norah: I think I’m being watched.
She stared at the message, then deleted it. If she was being watched, she didn’t want them to know she was on to them. Who knew if they’d tapped her phone. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe not.
Norah: I think I might get a catsitter for Cleo.
She sent the innocuous message with a prayer that Marshall would understand what she was saying.
Marshall: She’s a special cat. What makes you think she needs someone to watch her?
At least his response wasn’t to call her crazy. He was playing along.
Norah: I think she must get kind of anxious, staring out the front window and seeing the exact same things on the street every day waiting for me to get home.
She didn’t know how she could be more obvious than that.
Marshall: What kind of toys does she like to play with?
Norah: Right now, she really likes this big, black mouse.
Marshall: Sounds like a good toy to have. Almost like a friend for her.
Norah released a sigh. A friend?
Norah: So she doesn’t need a catsitter?
She was going to need him to spell this out in black and white.
Marshall: Oh, she does. But she shouldn’t be anxious.
Norah: Thanks. She’s pretty independent. Doesn’t like people getting too close.
She sent the message before she could overthink it. She held her breath as the dots appeared, then went away.
Marshall: Then she must really hate it when someone refuses to back off.
Norah: Maybe. But sometimes she still . . . checks to make sure someone’s there.
Marshall: Someone will be there for her every time she checks.
The message glowed on her screen, simple and steady. Someone will be there.
For a long moment she just stared at it, thumb hovering, afraid to move in case the words vanished.
It shouldn’t have mattered. He was doing his job. Watching out for her because she’d gotten herself tangled in something bigger than either of them. That was all.
And yet—her pulse eased for the first time all evening. The fear in her chest loosened its grip, replaced by something warmer.
She turned off the screen, the afterimage still burned behind her eyelids. A ridiculous little smile tugged at her mouth before she caught herself. Don’t do that, she told her heart. This doesn’t mean anything.
He wasn’t hers. Not anymore.
But knowing his team was out there—somewhere past the rain, watching the street, keeping his promise—felt like breathing for the first time in hours.
She set her phone on the nightstand, double-checked the lock on the front door, then stood at the window and looked out into the wet dark. Nothing but streetlights and reflections. Still, she whispered it anyway, so quietly that even the drizzle of rain couldn’t carry it.
“Goodnight, Marshall.”
Morning came too soon.
The storm had passed, but the air over DC still felt heavy, like it hadn’t decided whether to clear or break again. Norah dressed on autopilot in her customary black slacks, silk blouse, and low heels—and told herself she’d slept. The mirror didn’t buy it.
By the time she reached her floor, the office was already humming. Norah’s heels clicked a quiet rhythm down the glass corridor, every step keeping time with her thoughts.
Someone will be there.
The words still replayed, steady as the hum of the lights overhead. She shoved them aside.
Today wasn’t about Marshall. It was about NorthBridge. About the numbers that still didn’t fit, and proving—to herself as much as anyone—that she could find the truth without needing him to watch her back. Proving that NorthBridge’s dirty tracks didn’t lead to Richard.
The meeting on her calendar had popped up a few days ago, and Richard had mentioned it in passing again. It was important that she be there, he had claimed. The boardroom door stood half open. Laughter drifted through.
Richard Hale sat at the head of the table, silver hair perfectly in place. And across from him, framed by the sweep of glass overlooking the Potomac, sat someone Norah hadn’t expected.
Senator Katrina Morris and her husband lined the table along with half a dozen minions. Associates, she corrected mentally. Recognition. Disbelief. And under it, the cold question that had been growing since Friday night: How deep does this go?
She straightened, smoothed her jacket, and stepped inside.
Richard caught her eye and gave a small nod. She slid into the empty chair halfway down, her coffee suddenly too warm in her hand.
Richard’s voice carried easily. “And as we were saying, Senator, the NorthBridge assets will be fully restructured by end of quarter. We’ve aligned valuation with your committee’s sustainability targets. The optics will be clean.”
Norah’s chest tightened. Your committee?
Senator Morris inclined her head, smile sharp as glass. “That’s good to hear, Richard. The last thing we need before an election cycle is another oversight inquiry. Appearances are half the battle in this climate.”
Richard gestured toward her. “Norah Winslow is leading our firm’s analysis on NorthBridge. Her team caught some irregularities early on—they’ve all since cleared up as the data was finalized.”
Morris turned her gaze on Norah. “Ah. You must have quite the eye for detail.” Her tone carried warmth edged with appraisal. “Good work, Ms. Winslow. I like people who notice what others miss.”
“Thank you,” Norah said quietly, still unsure what she’d just walked into.
The senator’s faint smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve found that noticing too much can be . . . complicated in this town.”
Polite laughter rippled around the table. Norah didn’t join. Her eyes slid to Richard, wondering if he heard the not-so-thinly veiled threat in the Senator’s words.
The meeting rolled on as Richard covered risk matrices and clean energy optics. It was the careful choreography of money and influence.
When the session ended, Richard rose first, promising follow-ups. The end-of-meeting handshakes started.
Senator Morris turned back to Norah, her handshake cool and deliberate. “Keep up your diligence, Ms. Winslow. I appreciate people who understand when to hold the line.”
Norah smiled tightly. “Of course, Senator.”
Morris’s aide, a smooth-faced man, maybe mid-thirties with easy charm and tailored confidence, lingered a beat longer. “We’ll see you at the fundraiser next week, I hope?”
Richard answered before she could. “Of course she’ll be there. Summit is sponsoring the event, after all. It’s high time we had someone like you in the White House, Senator.”
Norah was stuck processing the ramifications of that statement when she noticed the aide still standing too close. His smile slid toward her. “Then maybe you’ll save me a dance, Miss Winslow?”
Norah blinked, taken off guard. “That’s kind, but . . ” Her brain scrambled for something, anything. “I’ll be attending with my boyfriend.”
The aide’s grin faltered, just slightly. “Ah. Lucky man.”
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a polite smile. “He’s . . . protective.” She couldn’t imagine someone less like Marshall and his carefully-contained ruthless edge than this perfectly polished political aide.
Thankfully, that did the trick. The aide backed off with a murmured goodbye.
As the group dispersed, Richard gathered his papers. “You handled that well.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated, then added, “Richard—why are we taking such a strong position on NorthBridge? The exposure’s disproportionate.”
He sighed, patient and practiced. “Because we know where the tide is heading over on the hill. Senator Morris is aiming higher. This is still not public, but this fundraiser is the first stop on her national campaign. She’s announcing her bid for President.
Summit needs to be seen as an early supporter. NorthBridge is part of that.”
“Even if the numbers don’t justify it?”
He gave her a look that was equal parts mentor and warning.
“In politics and finance, justification is a matter of timing. You know that. Our books are still balanced. There’s nothing to worry about, Norah.
This is a good thing. You’ve seen the numbers.
NorthBridge is a good buy. And Senator Morris’s connections only make it that much stronger. ”
She nodded, because arguing wouldn’t change anything. “Understood.”
“You’ll attend the gala, Norah. The optics are important to me.”
“Of course, Richard. I’ll be there.”
“With your boyfriend, I assume.”
She forced a smile. “I’ll see if he can make it.”
When he left, the room seemed to exhale.
Her reflection stared back from the glass table. Professional, composed, unshaken. But beneath the polish, something in her had shifted.
Faith wasn’t blind—it just had to decide where to look. And for the first time, Norah wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.