Page 115 of Ten Day Affair
I'm in the elevator before my next meeting was supposed to start, canceling it with a quick text to Angela.
When I walk out onto 6th and open my driver's door, I hit Dorian's contact. He answers on the first ring.
"Yeah?"
"We need to talk. Now."
"I'm about to walk into a meeting in Brooklyn. I'll come to your office when I finish up here."
"Fine."
"It will be a few hours."
I hang up without a response and stare out the window as my driver weaves through midtown traffic. My carotid is ready to burst through my neck. If it were just me, I wouldn’t give two shits. But this could hit Sam. And she doesn’t even know she’s in the blast zone.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pacing behind my desk. The Singapore call is in an hour, and I can’t cancel again. It doesn’t mean I'll be present for it. Not really.
After I somehow got through the meeting, my phone buzzes. It's Dorian.
"Are you close?"
"How was the meeting with Marcus?"
"You were right. That same reporter from Palm Beach called their compliance office asking about shell companies and conflict of interest protocols."
A pause. Then Dorian's voice drops an octave. "Shit. How specific were the questions?"
"I didn't get that, but enough to scare their legal team into full retreat mode. They know about King's Holdings. Marcus didn't say it's dead, but they want to lay low for now, not commit."
"I'm five minutes out."
The line goes dead. I toss my phone onto the desk and fall into my chair, staring at the ceiling. Three months ofnegotiations. Forty million dollars. All of it is circling the drain because some journalist decided to play Nancy Drew.
I know no one on the board leaked this. Kings Holdings board members sign confidentiality agreements. Plus, it wouldn't be in any of their best interests to talk.
Hospital staff wouldn't have access to the acquisition details.
This isn’t an inside job. This was someone digging and trying to find a story. She's putting out breadcrumbs and seeing if anyone bites.
My assistant's voice crackles through the intercom. "Mr. Houston? Mr. Grimes is here."
"Send him in."
Dorian bursts through the door without his usual measured entrance. His tie is loosened, sleeves rolled up. He looks like a man who just sprinted up fifteen flights of stairs.
"What exactly did Hoffman say?"
I recap the lunch conversation while Dorian drops into the chair across from me. His fingers drum against the armrest.
"The reporter knew about the shell company structure?"
"I don't think she knows anything. But I think she smells something and is trying to smoke it out."
"We need to figure out how she smells something."
I stop pacing. "Does it matter?"
"Not right now. We can deal with that once we suffocate the chatter. Right now, we need damage control."
