Chapter 95: THE PEOPLE WHO WORKED FOR HIM

THE MORNING AFTER ALLISON ENROLLED IN HER FIRST ACCOUNTING COURSE

8:46 A.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL HEADQUARTERS

By the time Allison reached Calloway Global, there were more employees outside the building than protesters.

That was new.

She slowed beside Lucian as they stepped from the car.

Her review session with Rachel was scheduled for nine.

One look at the plaza told her she wasn’t making it.

Several hundred people stood beneath the gray morning sky. No matching shirts. No professionally printed signs. No chanting.

Just employees.

Accounting. Facilities. Legal. Client services. Operations. Security. Technology.

Some still wore identification badges. Others held coffee cups. One man in a maintenance uniform looked as though he’d come directly from an overnight shift.

Near the front stood Samuel Bennett.

Thirty-four years at Calloway Global.

Beside him stood Maya.

Two years.

Allison stopped.

"This isn’t a protest."

Lucian surveyed the crowd. "No."

A handwritten sign near the front answered the question.

WE WORK HERE TOO.

Another:

OUR RETIREMENT IS NOT A PRESS RELEASE.

And another:

TELL US BEFORE YOU TELL THE MARKET.

Allison felt that one.

Two days ago, she’d been learning how far her authority over Charles-linked trusts actually extended.

Yesterday, she’d spent a quiet day choosing one accounting course for herself.

Today, hundreds of people wanted to know what Calloway’s crisis meant for their lives.

Lucian’s security director approached.

"Approximately four hundred outside," he said. "More in the atrium. No security concerns so far."

"Organizers?"

"Not formally."

Lucian looked toward Samuel. "There are."

"Do you want the executive entrance cleared?"

"No."

"Sir—"

"I’m going through the plaza."

Allison touched Lucian’s wrist.

"You don’t have to give them answers you don’t have. Just don’t give them nothing."

His eyes met hers.

"I won’t."

They started walking.

The crowd noticed.

Conversations died in waves.

No applause.

No booing.

Mostly, people watched.

That felt worse.

Samuel stepped forward.

"Morning."

"Samuel."

"You got a minute?"

Lucian looked at the hundreds of people behind him.

"I think you have more than a minute."

"Good."

Maya folded her arms.

"Because we need more than an email."

⸻

8:53 A.M. — CALLOWAY PLAZA

Nobody had planned a meeting.

There was no podium, no communications team and no prepared statement.

Just Lucian standing among his employees.

Allison stayed back.

This wasn’t her meeting.

Samuel went first.

"I’ve worked here thirty-four years. Started loading archive boxes. Then mail services. Procurement. Facilities. Operations."

"My first office was on nineteen," Lucian said.

Samuel almost smiled. "I remember. You were fourteen the first time Charles brought you in. Used to sit in conference rooms pretending you weren’t bored."

A few older employees laughed.

"I wasn’t pretending very well."

"No."

The laughter faded.

Samuel shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

"My pension statement came yesterday. I’ve got eleven months until I planned to retire."

Someone behind him called, "Twenty-three months for me."

Another voice said, "My husband retires next year."

Samuel continued.

"My wife and I paid off the house in March. We planned around that pension."

Maya nodded.

"Then last night," Samuel said, "I turn on the television and hear people calling historical Calloway investments blood money."

He looked directly at Lucian.

"I don’t need a finance lesson. I need to know whether the life my wife and I planned is still there."

The plaza went quiet.

Lucian took a moment before answering.

"The pension assets are legally separate from Calloway corporate assets. Nothing we’ve found says employee accounts disappeared, were stolen or belong to Charles. But I’m not going to promise there is zero risk while the review is still happening."

Samuel’s jaw tightened.

"Then why did television tell me there was a problem before you did?"

"You shouldn’t have learned that way."

"Whose failure was that?"

"Mine."

Allison looked at Lucian.

No qualification followed.

Maya stepped forward.

"You’ve got investor relations, lender calls, client briefings, board meetings, lawyers. Everybody with money or authority has a channel."

She gestured toward the employees.

"We have an inbox."

"Rumors," someone called.

"News alerts," another added.

A woman near the back said, "My mother asked if I was losing my job before my manager knew what was happening."

Maya looked back at Lucian.

"That’s the part you’re missing."

Lucian surveyed the crowd.

"No," he said quietly. "I think I’m finally seeing it."

⸻

9:11 A.M. — CALLOWAY PLAZA

Facilities brought out a small speaker system.

Lucian stayed among the employees.

The questions came quickly.

Layoffs?

None currently planned because of the Charles review.

Frozen retirement accounts?

No.

Government seizure of employee accounts?

No indication of it.

Client losses?

Some suspended contracts and demands for new certifications, but no mass departure.

Company liquidity?

Stable.

Then someone asked the question that changed the atmosphere.

"Are you resigning?"

Lucian answered without hesitation.

"The board approved a thirty-day transitional governance period two days ago. I remain CEO under restrictions and measurable review triggers. If those triggers are met, I step aside."

A man from technology called, "And you can’t fight the board?"

"I agreed not to use litigation, shareholder pressure or family voting power to retaliate over that decision."

Then a woman near the front said, "You keep talking about triggers."

Lucian turned toward her.

"Lenders have triggers. Clients have triggers. Ratings agencies have triggers. The board has triggers."

She pointed toward the crowd.

"What do we have?"

Margaret Hale, standing near the edge of the gathering, looked up sharply.

"If employees stop trusting management, when does that count? After enough of us quit to become a statistic?"

Samuel looked at Lucian.

"That’s why we’re here."

⸻

9:28 A.M. — CALLOWAY PLAZA

Allison’s phone buzzed.

RACHEL: Your nine o’clock has officially become not-nine-o’clock. We started without you.

ALLISON: There are about four hundred employees downstairs.

RACHEL: I know. Your absence is excused. Enjoy this historic moment.

Then:

RACHEL: Also, your father emailed asking whether I have a recommended reading list.

Allison closed her eyes.

ALLISON: Please block him.

RACHEL: Tempting.

She put the phone away.

Maya approached.

"You knew there were pension connections before we did."

Allison didn’t pretend otherwise.

"I knew historical investment relationships were being reviewed. What I saw was connected to trusts I’m responsible for."

"And you couldn’t tell us."

"No."

Maya absorbed that.

Allison added, "But confidentiality isn’t an excuse for having no employee communication system at all. Those are different problems."

That caught Maya’s attention.

"Who decides what employees get told?"

"I don’t know."

"You’re surprisingly bad at reassurance."

"I’ve recently been told that’s a professional strength."

That almost earned a smile.

Allison looked toward the crowd.

"But I think you’re asking the right question."

Because the issue was no longer simply whether Samuel’s pension survived.

It was whether the people whose lives depended on Calloway had any voice before decisions reached them.

⸻

9:42 A.M. — CALLOWAY PLAZA

Samuel raised his hand again.

The crowd quieted.

"Lucian."

He looked toward the tower.

"My first boss here was Mr. Davis. Retired in ninety-nine. Used to say Calloway would still be standing when all of us were dead."

A few older employees laughed.

"At the time, I thought that was comforting."

Lucian waited.

"Now I’m not sure."

Samuel looked around.

"This building has your family’s name on it. But I’ve given it thirty-four years."

"Twenty-eight," a woman nearby said.

"Seventeen."

"Twenty-two."

"Eleven."

"Six."

Maya added, "Two."

Samuel faced Lucian again.

"When you and the board decide what happens to this company, who represents those years?"

Lucian had no answer.

"Not a survey," Samuel continued. "Not an engagement score. If you’re deciding pensions, jobs, restructuring, asset sales, leadership—someone who works here should be in the room."

That changed the question.

They weren’t asking only for information.

They were asking for representation.

Lucian looked toward Margaret.

She gave him nothing.

"I agree."

The crowd went quiet.

"I don’t know yet whether that means a workforce council, board representation, independent employee counsel or some combination. But employee interests shouldn’t appear only after the decision has already been made."

Samuel asked, "When do we get something real?"

"Today. By five, the board will have options prepared by independent governance counsel."

Maya’s eyes narrowed.

"And employees choose our representatives?"

"Yes."

"Not management?"

"No."

"Not HR?"

"No."

Theo coughed from beside Margaret. "This feels like an interrogation."

Maya looked at him. "You can leave."

"I support employee empowerment less when it’s directed at me."

Margaret elbowed him.

Maya turned back to Lucian.

"And if whoever we choose tells you something you hate?"

"I listen."

Samuel shook his head.

"Listening isn’t power."

Lucian held his gaze.

"No. It isn’t."

A beat.

"Then whatever we build needs rights attached to it."

Samuel nodded once.

"Now we’re talking."

⸻

10:17 A.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, FORENSIC REVIEW FLOOR

Allison arrived seventy-seven minutes late.

Rachel looked at the clock.

Then at her.

"Your nine o’clock became ten-seventeen."

"There were four hundred employees downstairs."

"I noticed."

"You told me not to rush."

"Sit down, Allison."

"That’s what I thought."

Rachel slid over a binder.

Before Allison opened it, her phone buzzed.

ADRIAN: Rachel has declined to provide a reading list.

ALLISON: Good.

ADRIAN: I disagree.

Allison put the phone facedown.

Rachel glanced at it.

"Your father?"

"Unfortunately."

"The Bellweather follow-up," Rachel said, tapping the binder.

The humor disappeared.

Bellweather.

Hartwell.

Margaret’s old beneficial-ownership objection.

Allison opened the transaction records.

"Don’t hunt for a theory," Rachel said. "Read the transactions."

For forty minutes, Allison did.

Then she found a payment.

Seven years after Bellweather’s redemption.

Then another.

Then another.

Same recipient.

BELLWEATHER ADVISORY HOLDINGS

"I thought Bellweather exited Hartwell eleven years ago."

"Keep reading."

The payments weren’t regular.

They followed specific events.

A refinancing.

A partial sale.

A recapitalization.

Allison marked the dates.

"What services did Bellweather Advisory provide?"

"We haven’t identified any."

"How much went through it?"

"About six-point-two million over seven years."

Allison sat back.

"So Bellweather surrendered ownership, but retained something economic."

"That’s one possibility."

She returned to the redemption agreement.

"If there was a continuing right, where would it be documented?"

Rachel remained silent.

Allison searched until she found the reference on page eighty-three.

Subject to continuing commercial arrangements identified in Schedule D.

She flipped through the exhibits.

A.

B.

C.

E.

"Schedule D is missing."

Rachel leaned back.

"Now you have today’s question."

Allison checked the payment trail next.

Bellweather Advisory Holdings.

Another vehicle.

Then—

CALLOWAY FAMILY STRATEGIC TRUST

She stopped.

The frozen trust under her authority.

"So this eventually reaches me."

"It may."

Six-point-two million dollars.

Seven years of payments.

One missing schedule.

Allison looked at Rachel.

"What was in Schedule D?"

⸻

11:36 A.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, GOVERNANCE CONFERENCE ROOM

While Allison remained upstairs, Lucian sat across from Margaret, Marianne, two independent directors and outside governance counsel.

Three empty chairs stood along the wall.

Theo stared at them.

"Ghost directors?"

"Potential employee seats," Margaret said.

"Much less exciting."

Counsel laid out the options: a temporary workforce council, elected representatives with consultation rights, a non-voting board observer, independent employee counsel and formal notice before certain restructuring actions.

Marianne tapped the observer proposal.

"Confidentiality."

"Manageable," counsel said.

Robert Chen entered late, scanned the documents and looked at Lucian.

"You promised representation before consulting the board."

"I promised options."

"You told hundreds of employees they deserve a voice."

"They do."

"That isn’t your decision alone."

"No. Which is why we’re here."

Robert sat down.

"You created a governance problem to solve a communications problem."

Lucian looked at the empty chairs.

"No. The communications problem exposed a governance problem."

That ended the exchange.

⸻

12:19 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, FORENSIC REVIEW FLOOR

Allison had read the redemption agreement twice.

Still no Schedule D.

"Who drafted it?"

"Outside counsel."

"Still around?"

"Successor firm."

"Please tell me somebody already called them."

Rachel’s expression answered.

Allison sighed. "I’m never going to have an original idea, am I?"

"Rarely."

"Cruel."

"Efficient."

Rachel’s phone rang.

She listened, then stood.

"Counsel found an archived closing index."

Allison stood too.

Rachel pointed at her chair.

Allison sat.

"I didn’t even say anything."

"You were about to."

Thirty-one minutes later, Rachel returned.

"The index confirms Schedule D existed. It also confirms there were multiple versions."

Allison straightened.

"Do we have them?"

"Archive retrieval is underway."

"Anything else?"

"The index shows a revision two days before closing."

Allison looked down at her notes.

The agreement was supposed to mark Bellweather’s exit.

Instead, a missing side schedule had been revised forty-eight hours before closing, and payments had continued for years afterward.

"When do we get the versions?"

"When the archive team gets them."

Rachel glanced at the clock.

"Which means you eat lunch instead of staring at my door."

Allison frowned.

"I can do both."

"No."

⸻

1:08 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, EMPLOYEE CAFETERIA

While the archive team worked upstairs, Lucian found Samuel and Maya eating lunch.

Maya looked up.

"You’re brave."

"I’m hungry."

Samuel gestured toward the empty chair.

Lucian sat.

Samuel eyed his tray.

"You actually eat the Tuesday chicken?"

Lucian looked down.

"Should I not?"

Maya groaned. "Dad."

"Thirty-four years," Samuel said solemnly. "Never Tuesday chicken."

Lucian slowly pushed the plate away.

"Employee consultation is already paying dividends."

Maya laughed.

Then her expression sobered.

"What’s happening with the proposal?"

Lucian explained the options.

When he finished, Samuel asked, "Who picks independent employee counsel?"

"Employees. Company pays."

"Good."

"And after thirty days?" Maya asked.

"That needs to be settled too."

Samuel nodded.

"Because I don’t want a chair while the building’s on fire and then lose it when the smoke clears."

"Neither do I."

Maya studied Lucian.

"You keep making it inconvenient to dislike you."

"Theo says that’s one of my better qualities."

Samuel laughed.

Then looked down at his tray.

"I still want to know about my pension before CNN does."

Lucian nodded.

"That part I can fix."

Not the answer.

The process.

For now, it was enough.

⸻

2:26 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, FORENSIC REVIEW FLOOR

The archive retrieval finished at 2:26.

Rachel’s team received three Schedule D files, a closing index and a partial approval packet.

Allison was at another desk working through a separate counsel-cleared exercise when Rachel’s screen lit up.

She noticed.

Rachel noticed her noticing.

"No."

"I didn’t say anything."

"You leaned."

"I leaned in a curious manner."

"You leaned like a subpoena."

Allison sat back.

Rachel opened the files with two forensic analysts and independent counsel.

Allison could see none of the screens from where she sat.

For the next twenty minutes, nobody said much.

Then one analyst spoke quietly.

"There are three versions."

Rachel’s attention sharpened.

The first contained a five-year sunset.

The second contained the same sunset plus an updated beneficial-ownership verification requirement before renewal.

The third was the executed version.

No sunset.

No renewed verification requirement.

Rachel looked toward counsel.

"Approval packet?"

"Partial."

"Signature pages?"

"Executed copy only."

"Metadata?"

"Still pulling."

Allison heard enough to understand that something had changed.

Not enough to know who changed it.

Rachel looked across the room.

"Don’t."

"I am sitting perfectly still."

"You’re thinking loudly."

"That isn’t a real thing."

"It is with you."

At 2:51, independent counsel took the documents into a closed conference room.

Margaret was asked to join them.

Allison was not.

She looked at Rachel.

Rachel pointed toward the exercise still open on Allison’s desk.

"Finish."

Allison muttered something impolite.

Rachel pretended not to hear.

⸻

3:18 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, INDEPENDENT REVIEW FLOOR

By 3:18, counsel had completed an initial comparison.

They knew what differed between the versions.

They did not yet know why.

They also had no reliable metadata showing who had requested the final change.

That distinction mattered.

Margaret had reviewed the documents separately and told counsel that she recognized the five-year version.

She did not recognize the executed language.

At 3:31, counsel cleared a narrow briefing for Allison because the payment stream ultimately reached a trust under her authority.

Rachel found her at the desk.

"You can come in now."

Allison closed the file in front of her.

"That sounded ominous."

"It wasn’t intended to sound anything."

"That somehow made it worse."

⸻

3:43 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, INDEPENDENT COMMITTEE CONFERENCE ROOM

On the screen:

HARTWELL INFRASTRUCTURE FUND II

SCHEDULE D — CONTINUING COMMERCIAL ARRANGEMENTS

Allison leaned forward.

There it was.

The missing schedule.

Counsel spoke first.

"We recovered three versions this afternoon. The comparison is reliable. The history behind the changes is not yet established."

That was clear enough.

Rachel displayed the executed language.

Bellweather Advisory Holdings had retained a contractual participation payment tied to specified liquidity events involving Hartwell assets.

Not ownership.

But an economic right that survived redemption.

Allison read the percentage.

"That’s the six-point-two million."

"It accounts for the payment pattern we’ve identified," Rachel said.

Counsel changed the screen.

The earlier version contained a five-year sunset.

Another version added a requirement for updated beneficial-ownership verification before renewal.

The executed version contained neither.

Then came the signature page.

Charles Calloway.

Hartwell counsel.

Margaret Hale.

Margaret sat very still.

"I signed a Schedule D," she said. "But the language I remember had the five-year limit."

Rachel asked, "And the verification requirement?"

"Yes."

Margaret looked at the executed version again.

"That is not the agreement I remember approving."

Not:

Charles forged it.

Not:

Someone stole my signature.

Not yet.

Only what she could actually say.

Allison appreciated the difference.

Counsel closed the document.

"We’re now tracing the approval history and original signature packet."

Allison looked at the screen.

"The money reached the Calloway Family Strategic Trust."

"Yes."

"So if these payments were improper, I may have to decide what happens to money already inside it."

"Eventually."

Allison closed her notebook.

"Then I wait."

Rachel’s expression softened by approximately half a millimeter.

"Good."

Allison stood.

At the door, she looked back at Margaret.

Margaret was still staring at the blank screen.

For once, Allison didn’t need to stay in the room to know the important part.

The documents disagreed.

The reason was still missing.

⸻

4:58 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, BOARDROOM

Two minutes before Lucian’s deadline, the board approved an interim employee-representation framework.

Not unanimously.

Not permanently.

But enough.

Employees would elect five representatives across major operating groups to form a Workforce Transition Council.

The council would receive non-privileged briefings on restructuring matters affecting employment, benefits and retirement programs. It would have formal consultation rights before material workforce actions and could retain independent counsel at company expense.

One representative would serve as a non-voting observer for designated board sessions involving workforce consequences.

Within twenty-one days, the governance committee would recommend whether some form of employee representation should become permanent.

Robert voted no.

Eleanor voted yes.

Margaret voted yes.

Theo, not entitled to vote at all, announced that he was "spiritually yes."

Margaret threatened to remove him.

Lucian had recused himself from the final approval.

When Margaret announced the result, he looked toward the empty chair reserved for the future employee observer.

For most of his life, Calloway had taught him that leadership meant occupying the most important chair.

Maybe sometimes it meant making room beside it.

⸻

5:19 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, MAIN ATRIUM

Phones buzzed across the atrium.

Employees read the announcement.

Some cheered.

Most didn’t.

Nothing had been fixed yet.

No pension question was fully resolved.

No job was guaranteed forever.

But something had changed.

Maya read the framework twice.

Then looked at Samuel.

"You going to run?"

"Absolutely not."

"You made the speech."

"That was already too much public speaking."

"You’ve been complaining about management since before I was born."

"That’s a private hobby."

Her phone buzzed again.

EMPLOYEE NOMINATIONS OPEN — WORKFORCE TRANSITION COUNCIL

Samuel saw it.

"No."

Maya smiled. "I didn’t say anything."

"You have the face."

"Thirty-four years, Dad."

"I asked for someone."

"You are someone."

"I raised you better than this."

"You raised an accountant."

Samuel sighed.

"Exactly. You should understand risk."

Maya laughed.

Across the atrium, Allison watched them.

For the first time in days, the Calloway name above their heads seemed less important than the people standing beneath it.

⸻

5:34 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, LOBBY

Allison left headquarters.

What the forensic team knew at that moment was limited but significant.

Three versions existed.

The executed version materially differed from the earlier drafts.

Margaret said it was not the language she remembered approving.

What nobody had established yet was who ordered the final revision.

Rachel’s team stayed to find out.

So did Margaret and counsel.

Lucian remained another twenty minutes to finish calls.

Then he left too.

⸻

6:07 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE

Allison came home with her bag and a headache.

Lucian arrived at 6:19.

Susanna was cutting strawberries.

Adrian was pretending not to look at three books stacked conspicuously on a side table.

Allison noticed.

Said nothing.

Growth.

Lucian loosened his tie.

"The council passed."

"Employees choose their own representatives?" Susanna asked.

"Yes."

"Good."

Adrian looked at Allison.

"You found something."

"Why does everyone know my face?"

"Because you’re my daughter."

"Terrible answer."

She sat.

"We found Schedule D. Three versions. Bellweather kept an economic participation right after its formal exit. Earlier language had a five-year limit and a verification requirement. The executed version didn’t."

Lucian’s expression sharpened.

"And the payments?"

"Some reached the Calloway Family Strategic Trust."

"The one under your authority."

"Yes."

Adrian frowned.

"So Charles changed it."

Allison shook her head.

"We don’t know who changed it. That’s what Rachel’s team is tracing now. Margaret only said the executed language isn’t what she remembers approving."

Adrian caught himself.

"Right."

Lucian sat beside Allison.

"So you wait."

"I wait."

He smiled faintly.

"Rachel is getting to you."

"It’s horrifying."

Adrian gestured toward the books.

"I have material on evidentiary discipline."

Allison stared at him.

"You bought three books."

"I did not give them to you."

"They’re six feet away."

"Respectfully six feet away."

Susanna snorted.

Allison looked at the stack.

"What’s the first one?"

Adrian brightened.

"One," she warned.

"I said nothing."

"No syllabus."

A pause.

Susanna slowly looked at him.

Adrian sighed.

"I will delete the syllabus."

Allison dropped her forehead onto the table.

Lucian laughed.

⸻

8:44 P.M. — CALLOWAY GLOBAL, INDEPENDENT REVIEW FLOOR

At 8:44, the missing piece arrived.

Not another version of Schedule D.

The instruction behind it.

Rachel opened the newly recovered archive package while Margaret and independent counsel watched.

The team already knew the executed version differed from the drafts.

Now they had the metadata and email trail explaining how.

The final revision had been requested on the morning of closing.

A scanned email accompanied the change.

From: Charles Calloway

Use the broader continuation language. Approved. No further ownership certification required. We are not reopening diligence forty-eight hours before close.

Silence.

Margaret stared at the screen.

Then at the timestamp.

"He ordered it."

Rachel kept reading.

An executive had questioned whether removing the sunset and verification condition required renewed risk-committee approval.

Charles’s response had been one sentence.

Risk has already approved the commercial schedule. Close it.

Margaret went still.

Rachel opened the partial routing history.

The revised commercial pages had been substituted after Margaret’s substantive review.

The signature packet had then been assembled using approval pages already signed during the earlier circulation.

Not proof, yet, of every legal conclusion that might follow.

But enough to explain why Margaret’s signature appeared beneath language she said she hadn’t approved.

Margaret stared at her own name.

"I signed version two."

Counsel nodded.

"The routing history is consistent with that. We still need to authenticate the original packet."

Margaret closed her eyes.

"I objected to the beneficial-ownership problem. I documented it. Then I thought procedure would preserve the objection."

She looked at Charles’s email.

"It didn’t."

Rachel said nothing.

Margaret’s voice dropped.

"Eventually everyone treated the fact that I’d objected as though my responsibility ended there."

Her jaw tightened.

"Maybe I did too."

Charles hadn’t needed every person around him to be corrupt.

He’d needed something quieter.

People who followed the process.

People who assumed someone else would catch the next problem.

People who believed an objection remained meaningful after the most powerful man in the room had decided it wasn’t.

And a system practiced at moving forward when Charles said:

Close it.

Eighteen years later, that decision had become six-point-two million dollars in continuing payments.

Some of that money had eventually reached a trust Allison now governed.

Rachel checked the time.

8:57.

Counsel spent the next few minutes determining what Allison needed to know before she could make any future trust decision.

At 9:02 P.M., he nodded.

"Brief her tomorrow."

Rachel picked up her phone.

⸻

9:04 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE

Allison was in pajamas when her phone buzzed.

Lucian was in the bathroom.

One of Adrian’s books had somehow migrated onto her nightstand.

She opened Rachel’s message.

RACHEL: We found the version history. It directly affects one of your trusts. Briefing at 9:00 tomorrow. Do not come early.

Allison stared at it.

Then typed:

ALLISON: How early counts as early?

RACHEL: 8:59.

ALLISON: Hostile workplace.

RACHEL: You don’t work here.

ALLISON: Somehow worse.

She put the phone down.

From the bathroom, Lucian called, "Everything okay?"

"Rachel found something."

The door opened.

"What?"

"I find out tomorrow."

He studied her.

"And you’re actually waiting?"

Allison threw a pillow at him.

Lucian caught it, laughing.

Then Allison noticed the book.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Adrian."

"What did he do?"

"I don’t know yet."

"Are you going to investigate?"

She looked between the book and Rachel’s message.

"Tomorrow."

Lucian’s eyebrows rose.

"Who are you?"

"Go back to the bathroom."

He laughed and obeyed.

Allison set her phone facedown.

Tomorrow, she might face her first real decision as Successor Protector.

Tonight, she’d managed something almost as difficult.

She knew an answer existed.

And she could wait until morning to hear it.