Chapter 12
LUC
The LaCroix Petroleum building is steel and glass, catching morning sun like a knife edge.
I assess the perimeter as we approach. News vans are clustered at the main entrance.
Cameras. Reporters hunting for blood. Armand's press conference did exactly what it was designed to do—turn this into a public execution.
"Side entrance," I tell the driver.
Simone sits beside me, spine straight, hands folded. She's been silent since we left the guest house. Not the anxious quiet from before. This is battle focus. Fear locked down. Instinct taking over.
I've seen it in operatives before missions. The moment when survival instinct overrides everything else.
She'll need that today.
The car pulls into the executive garage. It's quieter here. No cameras. I step out first, check the space, and catalog threats. It's clear. Then I move to her door.
She takes my offered hand. A small acknowledgment that we're in this together even though I can't fight this particular battle for her. Some fights she has to win herself.
That doesn't mean I won't bury anyone who crosses the line.
"Henry's already inside," I say. "Conference room B. Board members arriving now."
"Armand?"
"Not here yet. Making them wait. Standard power play."
Her mouth tightens. She knows the tactic. The uncle wants the board unsettled before he walks in with whatever lies he's prepared.
We take the executive elevator. She pulls out her phone, checks something, puts it away. The doors open on the executive floor and we step into a hallway that smells like expensive carpet and corporate warfare.
Henry's waiting outside Conference Room B. He's been Simone's corporate attorney for years according to the briefing Remy gave me. He's good at his job. Loyal.
"They're inside," he says. "Full board except Armand. He's making an entrance."
"The evidence?" Simone asks.
"Preliminary financial trace. Shell corporation payments traced to Deveraux Oil subsidiary. Timeline correlates with your corporate decisions. It's not court-ready but it's compelling enough to show the board this is a power play, not legitimate fiduciary concern."
"Will it be enough?"
"Should be." Henry's voice is careful. "But Armand's been working these relationships for decades. Some of them will need more than preliminary evidence. They'll need to see you hold your ground."
She nods. She understands. This is as much about perception as proof.
"Luc can observe but he's not a board member," Henry continues. "He'll need to stay back from the table."
"Understood." I already knew that. My role today is watching. Protecting what I can. Reading the room for threats that don't carry weapons.
The conference room doors open. A woman steps out. Elegant, calculating. A board member. Eleanor something. I recognize her from the briefing materials.
"Simone." Her voice is neutral. "We're ready to begin."
Inside, the conference room is what I expected. Long polished table. Leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The board members already seated. Watching her enter like predators assessing prey.
I take a position against the back wall. Close enough to intervene if someone gets aggressive. Far enough to stay out of the corporate theater... for now.
She moves to the head of the table. Her seat. CEO position. Doesn't ask permission. Just claims it.
"Thank you all for coming on short notice," she begins.
Her voice is steady, commanding. "I'm sure you've seen this morning's press conference.
My uncle has made serious allegations. Before we discuss those, I want you to hear the preliminary evidence that has been compiled regarding my uncle's involvement in the surveillance and stalking operation that's been targeting me. "
Good opening. Framing the narrative before Armand can poison it.
The board members shift. Some lean forward, interested. Others sit back, arms crossed. Skeptical. I catalog reactions, sort allies from threats. Some are already with the uncle. A few genuinely undecided. A handful might stay with her if she doesn't flinch.
Henry stands, opens his briefcase, pulls out documents. Starts distributing them.
"What you're looking at is a preliminary financial trail," he says. "Shell corporation. Offshore payments totaling hundreds of thousands to Julien LaSalle—the man conducting surveillance on Simone. The trail leads to a Deveraux Oil subsidiary."
One of the board members interrupts. Older man, silver hair, entitled expression. "Julien LaSalle. The man Armand mentioned in this morning's press conference? The one he claimed was a concerned former associate?"
"He was the stalker," she says. Her voice is ice. "He planted cameras in private spaces. Sent threatening photographs. Escalated to direct action before being executed to prevent him from revealing who funded the operation."
The word hangs. Executed. Some of the board members don't blink. Others look uncomfortable. Good. This is messy. Personal. Corporate governance mixed with murder.
"The preliminary trace," Henry continues, pulling focus back to evidence, "shows the timing correlates directly with corporate disputes between Simone and Armand Deveraux."
He pulls up financial documents on the screen. Wire transfers. Corporate registration structures. Timeline analysis.
"These payments began three days after Simone rejected Armand's proposal to restructure executive leadership. They increased after she blocked his merger attempt. The pattern is clear—when Simone refused to cede control, someone funded an operation designed to discredit her."
The room goes quiet. The evidence is landing.
Even the skeptical board members are processing implications.
Then the doors open. Armand Deveraux walks in like he owns the fucking room.
My hands flex. The man who funded surveillance on Simone.
Who paid Julien to stalk her. Who orchestrated murder to cover his tracks.
Standing across the room wearing a custom suit and practiced concern.
Tall. Well-fed but not soft. Moves with the confidence of someone who's never faced real consequences. Expensive watch. Silk tie. Manicured hands that have never done violence themselves but paid others to do it for them.
Easy kill. Civilian. No training. Wouldn't see it coming.
I force my breathing steady. Not here. Not now. Simone needs to win this her way.
But I memorize the distance between us. The angle of approach. Where his vulnerabilities are. How long it would take to cross the room and put him down before anyone could stop me.
Someday.
"Apologies for my tardiness," he says. Voice smooth, unbothered. "I was finishing a call with our legal team."
He sits without waiting for permission. Takes the seat opposite Simone. Claiming equality at this table.
"I see you've started without me," he continues, gesturing to the documents. "Let me save everyone some time. Yes, payments were made through a Deveraux subsidiary. But not for surveillance. For legitimate business purposes that happen to involve the same individual."
Simone's expression doesn't change but I see her hand tighten on the armrest. She knows what's coming.
"What business purposes?" Eleanor asks.
Armand's smile turns sympathetic. Almost regretful. The performance is good. Practiced. The kind of lie that comes easy to men who've been destroying people for profit their entire lives.
"Security consulting," he says. "Julien LaSalle's firm provides security assessments for our offshore operations.
The payments Henry's showing you funded that work.
When Julien expressed concern about Simone's increasingly erratic behavior and dangerous associations, I asked him to document what he observed. Not to discredit her. To protect her."
The lie is smooth. Rehearsed. He's reframing the evidence before it can sink in, turning surveillance into family concern.
"That's bullshit," she says. Voice sharp but controlled. "You paid him to stalk me. To photograph me without consent. To create leverage you could use to force me out."
"Can you prove that?" Armand asks. "Or are these the accusations of someone under tremendous stress? Someone whose judgment has been compromised?"
There it is. The attack. Not just on her leadership. On her competence. On everything he can use to make the board doubt her.
I watch his face. Memorize the expression. The entitled certainty that he'll win because he always has. Men like Armand think they're untouchable.
They're wrong.
Henry stands. "The preliminary evidence speaks for itself. Shell corporation. Offshore payments. Timeline that directly correlates with business disputes. This isn't security consulting. It's corporate sabotage with a stalking operation as cover."
Armand shakes his head sadly. "Henry, I respect your loyalty to Simone.
But look at the situation objectively. She's been making decisions that concern multiple board members.
Rejecting profitable opportunities. And now we learn she's been involved with someone she claims was stalking her—which is it?
Was he providing security assessments or was he her stalker?
Because the story keeps changing based on what's convenient. "
I watch the board members' faces. Some are still with her. Others are wavering. Doubt spreading. He's good at this. Twisting facts. Creating confusion. Using the truth as camouflage for lies.
The silver-haired board member shifts in his chair. Leans back. Crosses his arms. Uncertainty in every line of his body. He was with Simone when the meeting started. Now he's calculating risk.
The woman two seats down won't make eye contact with Simone. Guilt. She's already decided.
But the younger board member near the window—tech background, brought in after the Brazilian deal—keeps his eyes on the financial documents Henry distributed. Reading. Processing. Not buying Armand's performance.