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I shake my head. “That turns this into a celebrity feud, and I’m not using the women Celeste helped as ammunition because Spencer decided to attack me.”
Theo’s expression darkens as I continue.
“Nora trusted us with her history because Celeste protected it for years. Haven House exists to help people who need somewhere safe, and I’m not turning those women into evidence because my reputation took a hit.”
His anger remains, although some of the fight leaves his posture because he knows exactly why that boundary matters.
Claire moves to the next issue. “Three board members have requested an emergency meeting, and the investor calls are increasing.”
She reads the names, including one man who’s been involved with Wolf Shield long enough to know the real beginnings of the company.
That bothers me more than the entertainment coverage.
My phone vibrates across the table before I can ask what the board members want. I recognize the name of another investor and answer before it rings again.
He spends the next several minutes asking about legal exposure, documentation, and whether any of Wolf Shield’s first business relationships came through charitable organizations.
“Some did,” I tell him.
Emma looks over as the investor pauses.
“Several introductions came through people connected to shelters and nonprofit boards, but we’ve never hidden that. Those relationships developed after I provided security work for organizations that needed it.”
He asks whether money passed between me and the shelters.
“From me to them. There were projects where I paid for equipment because the organization couldn’t.”
His next question concerns records.
“We have them, and you’ll receive whatever documentation the company can legally release.”
I end the call without giving him anything beyond the facts and a promise that Communications will follow up.
Theo watches me set down the phone. “He sounded delighted.”
“He sounded concerned.”
“Concerned investors just use better vocabulary.”
Claire’s phone rings before I respond, and she steps into the hallway to take it.
Beside me, Emma shifts in her chair and rubs beneath her ribs.
My attention goes to her before I can stop it.
She catches the look and adjusts her position. “One of your children has decided my rib cage needs remodeling.”
“Do you want to go upstairs?”
“Bane.”
“I’m asking, Em.”
Her expression softens because she knows I’m trying to respect the distinction between asking and deciding. “I want to stay here.”
“Okay.”
I leave it there even though every protective instinct I have wants me to get her upstairs, put her feet up, and remove her from a problem Spencer created. Emma reaches for her water and turns back to the screen, making her choice clear enough that I force my attention onto the meeting with her.
