Outside, the sleet has turned to freezing rain, coming down in sheets that rattle against the covered section of the terrace. Heat lamps are positioned around the perimeter, glowing orange against the December darkness, but they do little against the twenty-six-degree air.
Patricia is standing near one of the lamps, perfectly composed despite the cold, wrapped in a cashmere coat.
"Patricia," I say, my breath fogging in the air. "You said it was urgent. Couldn't drag me somewhere warmer?"
"Privacy is more important than comfort." She doesn't smile. "And what I have to show you requires discretion."
My jaw tightens. "Get to the point."
"I've been doing research on Ms. Beaumont."
“Why am I not surprised?” Jaw working, I take a step closer, voice lowering. “Need I remind you, Patsy, that my wife is none of your goddamned business?”
She blinks, arms crossing. “Well, when your wife’s ‘business’ affects yours, it certainly does.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about something you might want to know before Monday's board vote." She pulls out her phone, the screen bright against the darkness. "I received an interesting email this evening from an anonymous source. It contains screenshots of correspondence between Harper Beaumont and Vanessa Chu from FoodFirst."
My blood immediately runs cold—and not from the temperature.
"What kind of correspondence?"
"The kind that suggests Ms. Beaumont was in contact with a competitor regarding StreamEats' acquisition plans. Specifically, the CulinaryVision deal." Patricia's voice is cool—cutting through the sound of rain on metal. "The emails are dated from approximately six weeks ago—right around the time Ms. Beaumont started at StreamEats."
She hands me her phone.
I look at the screen, and everything inside me turns Arctic.
There are screenshots. Dozens of them. Emails between Harper and someone named Vanessa Chu.
VANESSA: I'm prepared to offer significant compensation for any information regarding StreamEats' CulinaryVision acquisition plans.
HARPER: I don't have that information.
VANESSA: But you work there now. Surely you'll have access soon.
HARPER: I don't think this is appropriate.
VANESSA: Your father's medical bills are considerable, Harper. I'm offering you a solution.
The emails continue. Vanessa pressing. Harper deflecting. But never outright refusing.
Never saying no.
Until—
I scroll down to the final email, dated the week of Thanksgiving.
HARPER: I can't do this. I'm sorry.
VANESSA: You're making a mistake. This offer won't come around again.
HARPER: I understand. But my answer is no.
I stare at the screen, the glow harsh against my eyes, rain hammering around us.
Harper was in contact with FoodFirst.
