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“It’s Crew. You’ve seen the news?”
“Reading it now.”
“What’s your gut?”
“There was definitely an investigation. Too many details to be totally fabricated. But if the feds had anything solid, we would have found about this very differently. Whoever leaked this probably did us a favor.”
“Afavor? Stock has dropped ten points in an hour, Brent.”
“This came out sooner than they wanted. We can hit back while they still have nothing. Defamation. Document requests. I’m already coordinating with public relations on putting out a statement. Assuming there’s no smoking gun, we’ll be fine.” He hesitates. “Unless there’s anything you need to tell me?”
“If there is, I don’t know it.”
Brent sighs. “That’s probably for the best. I’ll keep you in the loop on everything. Do you want me to copy Arthur as well?”
“No. Everything goes through me.”
“You got it.”
I hang up and stalk down the hallway to take a shower. The door to our bedroom is still shut, so I head to the guest room’s bathroom. The hot water washes away the sweat, but none of the worries.
I should have taken Royce Raymond’s offer. If I had, I wouldn’t be in the middle of this shitstorm, all alone. With a pregnant wife. A kid on the way who’s supposed to inherit this burning legacy.
When I enter the kitchen, Phillipe is standing at the stove, cooking. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Kensington,” he greets.
And…of courseit’s fucking Christmas. ’Tis the season for corporate espionage.
“Merry Christmas, Phillipe,” I reply. I rub my forehead, feeling the few hours of sleep I’m running on. “You didn’t need to come in today. I didn’t even realize…”
He smiles. “It’s no trouble. The usual this morning?”
“Yes, please.”
I take a seat at the table and scroll through the news as Phillipe cooks my omelet. Asher wasn’t exaggerating. Itiseverywhere. I scroll a few articles and get the gist of the story. There aren’t any concrete details, and that gives me some reassurance.
After eating breakfast, I end up on the living room couch, working on my laptop. I need to go into the office, but I don’t want Scarlett to wake up all alone.
It’s past eleven when she comes downstairs with wet hair, wearing a silk pajama set.
“Hey.” She stops a few feet away, running a hand through her hair self-consciously.
“Hi.” I close my laptop and lean forward. “It’s, uh, Christmas.”
Her eyes widen. “Shit, really?”
“Really.”
“Wow. I’ll…I can get dressed. I feel like I should stop by the hospital, but we can go do something after, if you want?”
Idowant. Badly. I want nothing more than to drink hot chocolate and go skating and look at elaborate decorations and whatever other touristy shit people do here during the holidays that I’d normally look down upon. As long as I do it with her. But I can’t. And I have to tell her why. “I can’t. I have to go into the office.”
“On Christmas? You were supposed to have this whole week off.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
I nod toward the muted television. The banner at the bottom says the words I can’t seem to.Kensington Consolidated Investigated for Insider Trading, it reads.
