Page 37 of The CEO

“Her investigation, Foster, reveals vulnerabilities in our operational security that need addressing,” I counter, moving to the small bar to pour us each a glass of Scotch. “Besides, her connections are circumstantial at best. Nothing that would withstand serious scrutiny. However, with that being said, why don’t you focus more on tightening up things around here instead of allowing curious little creatures to poke through our business?”

Foster accepts the offered glass but doesn’t drink. “I understand, sir.”

“I am in control,” I say, the edge in my voice causing his jaw to clench with tension. “I haven’t led you or the rest of The Shadows astray once since I’ve been in power, and I don’t intend to. And while I appreciate your desire to follow the rules and protocols outlined by our bylaws, if you or the others continue to press me on this matter or try to undermine me, you will see a side of me I’ve kept leashed since I took over.”

“Yes, sir.” He sets down his untouched drink with careful precision. “Will there be anything else tonight?”

“Every path Eve is taking, every stone she overturns, is being precisely cultivated by my own design. The Vigilante will make no move against her. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

I dismiss him with a slight nod, returning my attention to the surveillance footage. I watch her eyes taking in her surroundings, the guests, the not-so-obvious hallways that lead to places in my home she’s dying to investigate. Her thoroughness impresses me.

I walk back to my desk to pull up the surveillance feeds on my private terminal. The blue glow from the screens casts harsh shadows across my office. Foster’s message about Eve photographing us in the forest preserve requires my immediate attention. I enter my security credentials and navigate through eight years of meticulously categorized surveillance footage.

“Eve Thorne,” I murmur, as her image fills the screens before me.

The earliest footage shows her at nineteen, standing alone at her parents’ funeral. Even in grainy security camera footage, her grief is palpable—raw and devastating. I remember that day with perfect clarity: the weight of my camera in my hands, the distance I maintained, the rain soaking through my jacket as I watched her.

I skip forward through the years, watching her life unfold across my screens. Eve at twenty-one, graduating college, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Eve at twenty-three, moving into her small apartment, carrying boxes alone with determined efficiency. Eve at twenty-five, leaving theTribunebuilding late at night, exhaustion evident in the slope of her shoulders.

Eight years of watching, waiting, calculating. Eight years of knowing she existed in the world, unaware of me, unaware of our connection.

I pause on footage from Eve in the forest preserve, camera in hand, the sunlight catching her hair as she photographs birds at the water’s edge. Something about her solitude, her focus, her quiet determination makes my chest tighten in a way I’ve long refused to acknowledge.

“What are you searching for out there, Eve?” I whisper to her image. “What emptiness are you trying to fill?”

I click through to the most recent footage, captured just hours after our encounter in the forest. Eve in her apartment—pacing, agitated, her camera clutched to her chest like a shield. She connects it to her laptop, scrolling through the photographs she took of me threatening Roberts. I watch her eyes widen as she recognizes who I am. I watch her research me online, frustration growing as she finds nothing but carefully curated press about Knox Industries’ many charitable endeavors.

My fingers trace her outline on the screen, a pale imitation of the touch I crave. “Soon,” I promise her image. “Soon you’ll understand everything.”

I close the surveillance feed and move to the window, watching lightning illuminate the grounds of my estate. The storm continues, mirroring the turbulence I feel when considering Eve’s evolution in my life: from collateral damage . . . to obsession . . . to now a very interesting and active participant in my carefully controlled world.

For eight years, I’ve hidden from her at a safe distance, manipulating circumstances around her while maintaining anonymity. Tonight felt different, like I was opening the curtain just an inch to give her a glimpse into my world.

And just as I suspected she would, rather than retreating with fear, she moved closer, drawn to the darkness like I’d hoped.

The realization brings satisfaction mixed with excitement. Eve is responding to my orchestrated decisions exactly as planned, yet something unexpected is developing alongside them—a connection I hadn’t fully calculated. This isn’t carnal, though I’m barely keeping that desire at bay with her. This is emotional . . . a variable I can’t easily quantify.

My phone interrupts my troubled thoughts. It’s The Raven. He would only be calling this late if he had critical intelligence.

“Sir, we’ve identified the source of the connections between the three businessmen you mentioned. One of our distribution managers who is associated with the cartel has been compromised. Apparently, he was double-dipping between us and them, and we’ve found some irregular deposits matching cartel payment patterns.”

“Identity?” I move to my desk, already accessing the information The Raven is sending over to me.

“Marcus Sullivan. Just sent you the encrypted information. Three years with our operation, previously vetted and cleared.”

“And you’re sure this is our guy?”

“Yeah. Apparently he’s been running his mouth about some things, and took the easy way out with these three marks. He had the cartel take care of them, and they didn’t exactly go above and beyond to cover their tracks. In fact, it looks like they made sure it would come back to us.”

I clench my teeth so tightly, I know a headache is sure to follow. We have strict protocols about the roles we each play in this organization and how we carry out business. Looks like Marcus thought he could pay the cartel to get rid of these bodies for him. It makes me wonder what else he’s done to expose the neck of The Shadows like this.

“Have him brought to the warehouse. Quietly.” I pick up my glass of Scotch, swallowing down what’s left. “I’ll handle the interrogation personally.”

“Tonight?” The Raven’s surprise is evident despite his usual composure.

“Is there a problem with that timeline?” I snap, tired of the sudden rise in questions and insubordination within my organization.

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