Across the aisle, Amanda looked up from her desk. "Daphne?"
I grabbed the folder and sat down again because standing in an open office with my face on fire seemed like a good way to get Monica's attention for every wrong reason.
Amanda's brows drew together. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," I said, and this time the word sounded terrible.
She glanced toward Monica's office. "Is something missing?"
"No." I looked down at Fletcher McCrae's name sitting there in black ink, neat and professional and poisonous. "Nothing's missing."
"That sounded worse."
I made myself breathe. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Office air, toner, coffee, citrus lotion. Not pine. Not lake water. Not Zane's hand covering mine while he loosened a knot around a bean vine.
Amanda came closer, lowering her voice. "Daphne, what is it?"
I turned the page so she couldn't read automatically. Not because I didn't trust Amanda. Because once I said this out loud, it became bigger than my desk, bigger than my shame, bigger than four remaining hours and one man who still didn't know the worst thing I'd done.
"I know the outside broker," I said.
Amanda's eyes sharpened. "Personally?"
"Not personally." My throat felt tight. "I know his brother."
Her gaze flicked to the folder, then back to me. "The site supervisor?"
I nodded once.
Amanda didn't make a joke. Bless her forever, she didn't make a joke.
"Is that a problem?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Are you involved in the project?"
"No." I kept my voice low and steady because the alternative was cracking right open beside my ceramic cactus. "I didn't know. I process files. I didn't know this had anything to do with him."
"Then you need to tell Monica."
"I will."
But Monica wasn't the only person I needed to tell.
The thought came fast and clean, and I hated how much it steadied me.
Zane had stood beside the drip line while Fletcher's name kept turning his face hard and closed. He didn't know this version of the materials existed. He didn't know Fletcher had put his land into Cascadia's project language like refusal was just a temporary inconvenience.
He also didn't know I worked here.
He didn't know about Julian.
He didn't know the woman he'd touched at Beargrass Lake had once stood in a parking lot with a key in her hand and rage in her chest and made the kind of choice that turned into paperwork, court, and twenty hours under his signature.
My desk blurred for half a second.
I blinked hard.
