I tap my fingers on the desk some more. I don’t trust her. But I don’t have a choice. “How good is your relationship with our promotion partners? Is there one you’re closer to than the others? Someone who might tell us who bought the slots? Like the one who reached out to you.”
Scarlett’s designer-clad shoulders lift and fall. “I suppose I could try. I’m not sure how it will help. We still won’t have anything.”
“Just do it,” I instruct her, and she leaves.
I collapse back into the chair. Dealing with truculent staff has never been top of my wish list, and I’ve had both Piotr and Scarlett this morning. I close my eyes and wonder what I’m going to tell Anders tonight.
Our calls have been short, to the point of brusque. His father has been getting better physically and is out of bed, but his mindis still confused. He’s still violent, but now he’s also mobile. And it’s not just the difficulty of dealing with him, it’s the emotional toll of watching someone you love and respect behave so badly. The last time I saw Anders, his eyes were sunken, rimmed with purple, and the worry lines looked carved into his forehead. I dread giving him this news on top of everything else.
Half an hour later, my phone pings with a message from Scarlett. A single word:Wobbegong.
Something prickles. There are just too many coincidences. Once is Wobbegong pre-empting our launch. Fair enough, that’s a coincidence. Twice is the Wobbegong CEO in a nearby coffee shop, in an area of London far from his offices, far from banks and lawyers and other likely excuses.
And now I learn Wobbegong pre-empted our marketing. That’s number three. It’s too much to ignore. It can’t be chance. We’re being targeted.
I think back to the convention when we first saw the Wobbegong release date and Scarlett said, ‘But how could they have known? Only a handful of us know.’
And that is the point. Only a handful knew. But Wobbegong knew because someone told them. We’ve got a mole.
The question is: Who?
I tap my fingers some more. Would they? Would they be brazen enough? If they think we don’t suspect, and with Anders gone, they might believe they’ve got away with it. But surely Wobbegong would have paid. Still, it’s worth a check. We only need the traitor to slip up once.
I stand up, smooth the wrinkles out of my skirt, and prepare to go to war. Time to discover who sold us out.
I find my foot soldier at her desk. “Chloe,” I say quietly, “I need a favour.”
There’s nothing more I can do until Chloe gets back to me. I should concentrate on work, as there’s enough of it. But my mind won’t stop picking at the problem because Chloe’s task is a longshot. It’s more likely she’ll find nothing than something. Except when I do try other things, my brain keeps skedaddling back to this.
Who can I trust? I count them off. Nur and Chloe, definitely. None of the rest of the management team. In the light of the loss of influencer slots, the poaching of our original launch date can no longer be regarded as accidental. All the management team knew the date. It could be any one of them.
Ginny? It pains me to put her in the suspects basket, but Piotr could have told her the date we’d fixed on before he dumped her. And revenge against him could be a motive. She’s off this week, supposedly sunning herself in some exotic location, but she hasn’t posted any pictures on social media and that’s odd. And she definitely seemed shifty when Anders asked her where she was going. What if she is here, meeting with Wobbegong Interactive and not on a beach in the sun?
Who else? There’s Rob. He didn’t know the launch date and has already shown himself to be loyal. Not a whisper about an affair between me and Anders has reached my ears and I’ve been keeping them pricked. And Rob’s not unique. I would bet most of our rank and file are extraordinarily loyal; look how hard they’re working to bringThe Obsidian Sigilin on time. Just look at Steve, uprooting their life and moving halfway around the globe for Cerium.
My normal time for departure comes but I've already called Effie's daycare and Dana to tell them I will be late, not something I take lightly. Time ticks on. I wait.
Then my phone rings. At last, Chloe.
“Cora!” she says and I can tell straightaway it’s good news. Her excitement is there in her voice. “I have a name.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “Scarlett?”
Then she tells me. I blink.
I suck in my breath, feeling a headache crawling over my skull. This is a nightmare. I kick my head back and think.
“Cora? Are you okay?”
I'd forgotten Chloe was still on the line.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reassure her. I’m not. I’m really not. I’m shocked and angry, and terrified. Because this is no longer the fear of an unspecified baddie. This is scarily real. I thank Chloe and disconnect.
This is way beyond my pay grade. I don't want to drop another problem on Anders but maybe it's necessary. I pick up my phone and hit dial.
And get voicemail. I leave a message.Call me.
What now?
