Page 77 of Emil

That’s my boy.

“Thank you all for coming. I appreciate your attendance. The topic today is one that recently struck close to home within my company. A senior executive, John McIntyre, orchestrated a theft from the firm his family founded while ensuring that if the theft were discovered, a lower-level employee would be blamed.”

The collective gasp came immediately.

John’s face flushed red, his mouth set in a hard line, but he didn’t move as I laid out the evidence. Every transfer. Every falsified report. Every attempt to frame Anders.

“We are the stewards of our companies,” I continued. “We have an obligation to look below the surface and ensure that accountability rests with those responsible, not those who are convenient.

“John McIntyre is no longer with the firm his family founded, now a subsidiary of my own company. What he did will make us better because we will never allow this level of corporate malfeasance again.

“It is my vow to our employees that every accusation will be thoroughly investigated. They deserve that. They are hardworking, dedicated, and they should never be sacrificed for executive comfort or misplaced loyalty. Thank you.”

The room remained silent as the reality set in. One by one, the people at John’s table turned away from him until he sat alone, an island in the center of the room. His face, once red, now looked molten.

I stayed at the podium, watching.

He shoved his chair back and stood, turning toward our table. Rage twisted his features as he took a step in that direction.

Anders didn’t look at him.

He simply lifted his coffee and took a slow sip.

It was the final insult.

John veered away and stalked out. The room stayed silent until the doors closed behind him. There was no slow clap. I didn’t expect one. As I returned to the table, murmurs spread quietly around me.

John could sue for slander if he wanted. Discovery would be a bitch, but he was welcome to try.

I slid back into my chair, and Anders leaned into me, resting his weight against my side. I wrapped an arm around him and held him close.

“Thank you for that,” he whispered.

“It was no less than he deserved.”

“Maybe. But not everyone would’ve done what you did.”

“Fuck with the man I love, and I’ll do what I can to make you miserable.”

“You love me?”

“I do. Very much.”

“Good,” Anders said softly. “Because I love you too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

NEXT SPRING

ANDERS

“Having an illustrator over here makes my life so much easier. Thank you for making that happen,” Rory said, perched on a stool in the kitchen.

It was one of those crisp fall days in the Pacific Northwest when it would be a crime not to have every window open. The sun was bright, the sky clear. It might’ve been perfection.

“Since I’m not the one doing the illustrating, I’m not sure what I did to deserve the thanks,” I said. “But you’re welcome.”

“And I really, really love that you’re not working yourself to death anymore,” Rory added. “And that you found a job you actually love.”