CHAPTER 4 #2
Our arrangement required truth about threats, not history.
But history had become the threat.
“Robert knew about Evan Hale,” I said. “The night of my hearing, he told me that if I kept asking questions about the development camp, he would make sure Ben lost his scholarship.”
Olivia’s face emptied.
“He threatened Ben?”
“He called it protecting the organization from distraction.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“Because you would have confronted him.”
“I did confront him.”
“About the fight. Not the camp.”
She stepped closer. “You let me defend him.”
“I let you keep believing your father had limits.”
“That was not your choice to make.”
“No.”
The word came easier this time. It still tasted like surrender.
Her eyes shone with anger and something more vulnerable.
“You pushed me away because you thought you were protecting me from him.”
“I pushed you away because you were becoming a weakness he could use.”
The truth hung between us.
Olivia’s breath changed.
I had said too much.
“Good night,” I told her.
I picked up the duffel and entered the guest room before wanting her became another form of pressure.
I left the door open.
The security team completed the lock replacement shortly after two in the morning. Olivia refused to sleep while strangers moved through the apartment, so we remained in the kitchen with the old access logs spread between us.
She changed into the oversized Titans sweatshirt and soft black trousers. I recognized the sweatshirt from a game six years earlier. My name had once been printed across the back, though the letters were nearly worn away.
“Is that mine?” I asked.
She looked down as if noticing it for the first time. “It was a promotional giveaway.”
“It has my number.”
“Half the city owns your number.”
“Not half the city’s daughter.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That sentence was structurally offensive.”
I looked at the faded twenty-one beneath her hair. “You kept it.”
“It is comfortable.”
“Of course.”
She gathered the access reports into categories: arena, apartment, Robert’s house, Ben’s building. I watched her create order from threat, color-coding overlaps and marking every instance where the Halcyon credential appeared.
“You do this when you are frightened,” I said.
She did not look up. “Do what?”
“Organize.”
“I organize when I am working.”
“You alphabetized the spice rack after your mother’s funeral.”
Her pen stopped.
I had not meant to expose the memory so bluntly.
“You were there?” she asked.
“At the house. Robert invited the team.”
“I remember sponsors. Board members. People carrying flowers I never saw again.”
“Ben and I stayed in the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“He was twelve. Crowds made him nervous.”
“And you watched me alphabetize spices?”
“You looked like you needed everyone to stop asking whether you were all right.”
She finally looked at me. “You did not ask.”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“I moved the labels so cumin came before cloves.”
A surprised laugh escaped her. “That was you?”
“You became angry enough to stop crying.”
“I hated whoever did that.”
“I know.”
The memory softened the room and made it more dangerous.
Olivia returned to the logs. “There are four overlaps. Martin Vale’s master credential was active near every breach, but the device signatures differ.”
“He gives access to others.”
“Or someone cloned him too.”
“You still want him innocent.”
“I want the evidence to survive defense attorneys.”
I leaned over the table. “Here.”
One access point appeared at Ben’s university and the arena within six minutes—physically impossible for one device.
“Two copies,” she said. “At least.”
“Vale controls a network.”
“Parker controls Vale.”
“Assumption.”
She glanced at me. “You are learning my language.”
“I dislike it.”
“You dislike anything that delays punching.”
“Punching produces immediate data.”
“It produces swelling.”
“That is also data.”
She smiled and shook her head.
The technicians finished and left. Olivia activated the new system herself. I watched her select passwords, assign Noah limited access, and refuse the option that would automatically share alerts with team security.
“Robert will notice,” I said.
“Good.”
“You want him to confront you.”
“I want to see what he reveals when he believes I am pulling away.”
The strategy was cold enough to resemble him. The difference was that Olivia knew what the coldness cost.
Her stomach made a quiet sound.
“When did you eat?” I asked.
“At the arena.”
“That was ten hours ago.”
“I had coffee.”
“Coffee is not food.”
“Do not begin managing my nutrition.”
I opened the refrigerator. It contained yogurt, lemons, a bottle of wine, and three containers of expensive takeout that had expired during her trip to Denver.
“You live like a person waiting to leave,” I said.
The words escaped before I could soften them.
Olivia closed the laptop. “Perhaps I am.”
The idea hit with unreasonable force.
“When the investigation ends?”
“My firm is in New York.”
“You could work here.”
“I could work anywhere.”
“Would you stay?”
She studied me. “Why does that matter?”