Chapter 9
REBECCA KNEW SOMETHING was wrong before Vidar Johnson ever spoke to her.
She stood near the edge of the main atrium, tablet hugged to her chest, watching people move through Severin Holdings as they always did.
Assistants crossed marble floors with practiced efficiency.
Security nodded politely. Someone laughed near the elevators.
Everything was normal enough to be surreal.
Rebecca told herself she was imagining things. She’d been doing that a lot lately.
“Rebecca.”
She turned.
Vidar Johnson stood a few feet away, hands loosely clasped behind his back, expression mild.
He wore charcoal today, tailored and understated, the kind of suit that made men look trustworthy without trying.
His inky hair was immaculate. His posture relaxed.
His black gaze calm and authoritative. He looked like someone who belonged exactly where he was.
“Mr. Johnson,” she said, managing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I didn’t realize you were in today.”
“I make it a point to be around,” he replied pleasantly. “People do their best work when they understand they’re replaceable. It makes them work with fewer mistakes.”
Replaceable.
The word hit her low and hard, a physical thing. Her stomach tightened, breath catching for half a second before she forced it steady.
Did he mean she was replaceable? Her job? Her place here? After everything she’d done, every late night, every favor quietly granted because it was asked in his name? She’d been useful. Careful. Loyal. Surely he wasn’t talking about her.
Or maybe that was exactly what he meant.
He gestured toward the stairwell that curved along the atrium wall, elegant and open, a showpiece more than a necessity. “Walk with me?”
It wasn’t a question.
Rebecca nodded anyway and fell into step beside him, her heels clicking softly against the stone. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, too fast for such a mundane moment.
“I wanted to thank you,” Vidar continued, his tone conversational. “For your discretion.”
Her fingers tightened around the tablet. “I was just doing my job.”
“And doing it well,” he said warmly, much to her relief. “Not everyone would’ve known when they’d done enough.”
Her stomach dipped, then steadied.
For a heartbeat, relief slipped in. “Done enough” meant finished. Contained. It meant she’d accomplished what he wanted, what had been required of her. And if Vidar Johnson had deemed it enough, then it couldn’t be questioned. It was justified. She’d simply done what was asked.
Then the phrase turned over in her mind.
At first done enough sounded like praise, like the tidy end of a task. Do the work. Close the door. Go back to your desk and pretend you’ve never seen what you’ve seen. Or worse, read what you shouldn’t have read.
But the more she held the phrase in her mind, the more it shifted. Done enough didn’t quite mean finished in the way she’d first taken it. Initially, it sounded like praise. Closure. A quiet acknowledgment that she’d handled something unpleasant and could now put it behind her.
Then another meaning edged in.
Done enough wasn’t about how well she’d worked. It was about a boundary. A point beyond which knowledge became inconvenient.
Done enough implied she better not have pushed past what was permitted.
Done enough meant that nothing should ever be reopened or reconsidered or questioned.
And if what counted as enough was really about insulating him in case anyone ever confronted her about it, then her safety had never been part of the equation. Only the result mattered.
That was when the word “enough” took on a different shape.
Enough to leave no residue.
No witnesses.
No loose ends.
Her mouth went dry as the relief drained away, replaced by something colder and sharper, a realization she didn’t yet have language for but felt all the same.
They reached the stairs and began descending at an unhurried pace. Rebecca was acutely aware of the open space around them, the way voices echoed faintly from the entry level of Severin’s, the way people could see them without really seeing them.
“I hope you weren’t cornered,” Vidar added. “Living with someone tends to blur boundaries. Roommates talk. They share impressions.”
Rebecca swallowed, her grip tightening on the tablet. “I didn’t tell her anything.”
Vidar glanced at her, then chuckled softly. “Of course you didn’t. That would’ve been very foolish of you. Especially since she’s been implicated.”
They continued down another few steps. Her calves burned faintly. She hadn’t realized how shallow her breathing had become until she forced herself to slow it.
“You spoke to her recently,” Vidar said, still pleasant. Still calm.
It wasn’t phrased as a question.
Rebecca’s mouth went dry. “Yes. I speak to her every day.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “Closeness tends to invite interpretation. People connect dots that were never meant to be connected.”
That sounded almost sympathetic. Almost kind.
Rebecca nodded because it seemed expected. “I swear, I didn’t share anything I shouldn’t have.”
“I know,” Vidar said. “If you had, we wouldn’t be walking.”
Her foot missed a step. She recovered quickly, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. Vidar slowed, matching her pace without comment, as if he’d anticipated it.
“You see,” he continued, “what matters isn’t that the file is gone. What matters is that it never finds its way back into anyone’s hands.”
Rebecca’s heart began to pound. ”I understand that,” she said carefully. “I deleted it. It’s totally gone.”
“I’m glad,” Vidar replied. “Understanding prevents complications.”
They reached the landing before the final staircase to the entry level. The space opened again, glass and steel and light. Somewhere behind them, an elevator chimed.
Vidar stopped walking.
Rebecca did too.
He turned to face her, his expression open, almost regretful. “You should know,” he said, lowering his voice just enough that it sounded private, “that my father valued people who recognized the moment they were no longer needed.”
Her stomach clenched. “I’m not sure I—”
“He believed loyalty revealed itself in restraint,” Vidar went on gently. “In recognizing which truths were survivable.”
The air seemed thinner. Rebecca had the strangest sensation that she’d stepped out of time, that the rest of the building had moved a fraction of a second ahead without her.
“I was loyal,” she said, a note of desperation creeping in despite her effort to keep it out. “I did exactly what you asked.”
Vidar smiled. Not wide. Not cruel. Almost fond. “I know,” he said. “That’s what makes this… regrettable.”
The word rang in her ears.
Regrettable.
She took a step back without meaning to. Her heel caught slightly on the polished stone.
“What happens now?” she asked.
Vidar considered her for a moment, as if debating how much honesty to offer. “Now,” he said, “you step away.”
Relief surged too quickly to be trusted.
“And Sera?” Rebecca asked.
Vidar’s gaze sharpened, just a touch. “Sera tends to leave turbulence behind her. Even when she doesn’t mean to. But her turbulence won’t last much longer.”
The implication settled heavily in Rebecca’s chest. ”I don’t want any trouble,” she said. “I never did.”
“I believe you,” Vidar replied. “But trouble doesn’t require invitation.”
Her pulse roared in her ears. She realized, with sudden clarity, that she didn’t want to be here anymore. That she wanted distance. Space. Movement.
“I should get back to my desk,” she said.
Vidar inclined his head. “Of course.”
She turned.
And then he spoke again.
“You understand why nothing about this can ever be traced back to me.”
Rebecca froze. The words weren’t threatening. They weren’t loud. They were spoken with the calm certainty of a man stating gravity caused objects to fall. Something inside her broke loose. She turned back, her voice barely steady. “You said it was over.”
“It is,” Vidar said. “From my side.”
The meaning slammed into her. She took another step back. Then another. Vidar didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. He didn’t have to. Rebecca’s chest tightened as panic finally found her, sharp and absolute. It flooded her limbs, making her clumsy, her thoughts scattered.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered.
“No,” Vidar agreed. “You did exactly what was required. I just need you to finish what’s required.”
He took a single step closer, prompting her retreat, and her heel slipped. She gasped, arms windmilling uselessly, the tablet clattering from her hands. For a heartbeat, the world tilted.
Then she was falling, the impact blinding. Pain exploded through her body, white-hot and total. She heard herself scream, or thought she did. The sound seemed very far away. Faces swam into view. Voices overlapped.
“Call 911!”
“Oh my God—”
Rebecca tried to breathe. Couldn’t. Every inhale burned.
Someone knelt beside her.
Sera.
Her face came into focus, pale and frantic, hands hovering, unsure where to touch. “Rebecca. Rebecca, stay with me.”
Rebecca’s vision tunneled. Everything hurt. Everything went heavy. She clutched weakly at Sera’s sleeve, pulling her closer with what little strength she had left. ”Sera,” she whispered.
“Yes. I’m here.”
Rebecca forced the words out, knowing she didn’t have much time. Her fingers tightened weakly in her friend’s sleeve. ”Sera,” she whispered again, dragging in a burning breath. “Bjorn… was married to her.” She swallowed, eyes fluttering. “And you—”
Sera stilled. ”What?”
Her grip tightened once more. “You’re next.”
Understanding flickered in Sera’s eyes, sharp and unfinished.
Footsteps approached from two directions at once.
Vidar appeared at the edge of her fading vision, his breath hitching as if he’d been punched. “My God—” he said, voice breaking just enough to sound real. “We were just talking. She stepped back and before I could catch her, she fell.”