CHAPTER 7
The Secret Helen Keeps
Helen
That night, Helen couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Joshua Cross. The way he looked at her in the library. The way he said "myself" like it was the most honest thing he'd ever admitted.
She thought about the folder in her safe.
The folder with his real name. His real company. His real reasons for being here.
She got up.
The penthouse was dark and quiet. The Chicago skyline glowed through the windows. Somewhere below, a car honked, and someone laughed, and the normal sounds of the night drifted up to her sanctuary.
She walked to the closet, opened the safe, and pulled out the four pages.
Her private investigator was good. The file had everything:
● Baylor Acquisitions' real financials
● Three hostile takeovers that had skirted the edge of legality
● Josh Baylor's full history — education, career, family
● His mother's death when he was twelve. Cancer. His father remarried within a year. Josh had been sent to boarding school three months after the funeral.
● Notes from a therapist Josh had seen briefly in his twenties. The therapist had written: "Patient exhibits classic symptoms of emotional suppression and attachment disorder. Likely rooted in childhood emotional neglect following maternal death."
● A photograph of Josh at his mother's funeral, twelve years old, standing alone in a black suit that was too big for him, his face completely blank.
Helen had known who he was since Day Two.
Her investigator had flagged "Joshua Cross" as a potential alias before Josh even finished checking in. The name Cross was his mother's maiden name — too much of a coincidence to ignore. A quick cross-reference with Baylor Acquisitions' known associates, and the puzzle solved itself.
She could have exposed him immediately. Called the press. Ruined his reputation before he could ruin her company. A single phone call to the Wall Street Journal would have been enough.
But she didn't.
Because she wanted to see what he would do.
She wanted to know if he was just another vulture, or if there was something more underneath the cold surface. She wanted to understand the man behind the mask. She wanted to know if the boy in the too-big suit still existed somewhere inside the corporate raider.
And now, after days of watching him — watching the way he noticed things, the way he listened, the way he looked at her like she was a person instead of a target —
She didn't know what to do anymore.
The folder sat on her lap.
She should use it. She should strike first. That was the smart move. That was what her father would have done.
But every day she waited, every time he held her hand in the garden, every time she let herself pretend he was just Joshua Cross, the man who appreciated beautiful things before they disappeared —
The folder got heavier.
And Helen Campbell, who had never backed down from a fight in her life, who had faced down hostile board members and predatory investors and bankers who wanted to take everything —
She realized she was terrified.
Not of losing the hotel.
Of losing him.
She put the folder back in the safe and closed the door.
Not yet, she told herself.
Not yet.
She wasn't ready.