Chapter 3

I lean back from my laptop, needing a break from the screen. I glance around the room. Despite what Nora had suggested, I had not taken the time to remove the various art supplies and furniture from my temporary office. After all, she was right. My stay here is temporary. A few weeks at most, I’m assuming.

Although, I suppose that’s up to Callum in the end.

I see quite a few canvasses piled up against the walls, and a few in the corner catch my eye. Unlike the others, these look painted on. I stand and make my way over to them, pulling them away from the wall to glance down at the front side.

I cock my head to get a better view. Landscapes, by the look of it. But brightly colored and beautifully executed. I frown. Is this the kind of art they teach these kids here? I’ve never been much of an art guy, but even I have to admit that this is stunning. I purse my lips. Maybe Nora has a point after all. Maybe this foundation really does some good.

Mom would be glad to hear it.

I don’t spend much time thinking about her. It’s hard, in all honesty. Her death was a surprise, and it hit us all hard. The youngest of my brothers, I’d been thirteen when she’d died. And while I obviously know it was hard for everyone, I felt like I’d taken it the hardest. Mom and I had been close. We’d had a special bond. And losing her at that age had killed me.

Dad had grown distant after that, and from then on, no one in our family really discussed her. My brothers and I set up this organization a few years ago in her name, but even then, we rarely discussed her except for the idea of naming the foundation after her.

And now, staring down at the artwork leaned against the floor, I can’t help the flood of memories. I push it back against the wall abruptly and hurry back to my desk. Now isn’t the time for sentimentalities. It’s never the time for that, really. What good will it do? Sitting in sadness won’t bring her back.

Sitting back down in front of my laptop, my mind wanders back to Nora. Things have been tense since I got here on Monday. She seems pretty intent on disliking me. Why, I’m unsure. Well, I suppose because she thinks I’m here to shut down the foundation. Put her out of a job. I guess that’s a fair reason. Although that’s not my intent. I mean, if I think the foundation is bleeding money with no real added value, I’ll be honest about it with Callum and Theo, but I have no ill will toward it.

I glance down at the time on the bottom of my laptop screen. It’s almost the end of the day.

I spend the next hour going through a few more files, taking notes to go through later.

When five o’clock rolls around, I barely notice it. What I do notice is a flash of blonde hair and the sound of a door shutting. I glance up to see Nora closing her office door and strutting down the hallway.

Without even thinking, I leap up from my chair and dash to the door, swinging it open into the hallway.

“Nora,” I call, and she whirls around, a look of surprise painted across her pretty face. “Is it the end of the day already?” I ask with a chuckle, glancing down at my phone.

She snorts. “Yeah. A little after five.” She shifts her bag over her shoulder. “How’s everything going with the reports? I haven’t seen much of you today.”

I warm at the slight interest. At least she’s not trying to run for the hills. Besides, if it were up to me, I’d be seeing a whole lot of her today and every day. I shrug nonchalantly. “Boring. But that’s to be expected.”

She purses her lips. “Yeah, I told you the numbers aren’t what matters here.”

She turns, but before she can take a step, I blurt out, “How do you feel about grabbing a drink?”

She looks back at me, and I can see the refusal bubbling up within her.

“You can tell me more about how the foundation helps all those kids,” I say quickly. And just as I knew it would, that gets to her. Her gaze softens, and I can see her contemplating the offer in her mind. After a few seconds of narrowed eyes, she finally relents.

“Okay,” she says softly. “But just one drink.”

We did not reach the bar. Julian’s assistant intercepted us with a sealed envelope and a warning that the board had moved its meeting to the penthouse. The envelope contained a suspension notice bearing my forged signature. It also contained a photograph of the archive door, taken from inside while Julian and I were locked there.

“Someone wants the board to believe we planned this,” I said.

Julian read the notice. “Someone wants you to resign before the audit.”

He tore the notice in half, then stopped. “No. We preserve it exactly as it arrived.”

We returned to the archive with a building engineer and a witness from the foundation. The alarm had stopped, but the lock still showed an override from Julian’s executive account. He swore he had not used it. I photographed the panel, then asked the engineer to pull the access history.

The override had been scheduled three days earlier, before Julian met me. The schedule included a second command that would erase the camera feed at noon. The board meeting was not an audit. It was a timed deletion.

Julian gave me his phone. “Send the history to everyone.”

“Including your family?”

“Especially my family.”

I sent the file. Within seconds, the board chair replied that the data was inadmissible because it came from a restricted system. Julian stepped beside me and dictated a statement accepting responsibility for the disclosure. He knew the statement could cost him control of the foundation.

The penthouse doors opened before we were ready. His brothers stood beyond them with lawyers and a camera crew. One brother held the original ledger, pages marked with my name. The other held a resignation letter I had never signed.

Julian reached for my hand, then stopped short of touching me. “We go in together,” he said. “Whatever they ask, we answer from the record.”

I picked up the engineer’s report and walked through the doors first. The board had expected me alone. It had not prepared for a witness carrying the deletion schedule.