“Emma,” he said quietly, “let’s not be dramatic.”
That almost made me laugh.
Only twelve hours earlier, he had vowed to honor me in front of two hundred guests beneath white roses and cathedral glass. That morning, he had hit me because his mother did not like an omelet.
Now he wanted moderation.
Naomi glanced at her watch. “It’s time.”
I pressed send.
There was no thunder. No walls split apart. No dramatic music rose in the background.
Only a quiet whoosh from my laptop.
Then Harrington BioSystems started falling apart.
The first call came from the general counsel, yelling so loudly that Malcolm had to pull the phone away from his ear. The second came from the chief financial officer, who had clearly already opened the evidence file. The third came from a board member in Boston.
“What did you do?” Malcolm demanded.
“What you trained everyone else to fear,” I said. “I documented everything.”
