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“What would you like me to say?” Steven asks. “I apologize for the ambush, but I exploited a weakness. I always knew Jolie was too empathetic. That’s always been her blind spot.”

Clement lunges toward the man, hand raised to strike.

But he stops a step away from Steven without laying a finger on him, holding himself back. He’s smart. He knows we’ve been outmaneuvered here, and no number of physical threats can reverse it.

Steven just shakes his head at my brother.

“Blame me all you like,” he says calmly, “I did what I do. I did my job.”

And then, with that, he leaves the boardroom. With what remains of my career.

And Clement and I can do nothing.

22

JOLIE

“I told you, Jolie. I never trusted him.”

That’s what Clement says the moment Steven Rinde leaves the boardroom. I hold back the tears and grip the edges of the desk in front of me for dear life as his words land heavily.

My brother’s right, and he’s hiding his hurt and panic and frustration with his anger.

“I know, Clement. I know. I screwed up.”

I gave Steven my notes. I gave him my trust. And he weaponized it against me.

There’s a long pause. All I can hear is Clement’s shallow breathing. He’s so, so angry. He has every right to be. I expect more fury from him.

But then my brother tenderly puts his hand on my back.

“Come on, Jolie, we’ll work this out,” he says softly. “We’ll fix it.”

“No, we can’t.”

“I can get lawyers. There must be a case here. He shouldn’t have been able to steal from you.”

“We can’t stop him even if we want to, and you know it,” I snap back. “This is all my damn fault, Clement. I fucked it. I need to take the blame. You put your faith in me, and I failed you. Don’t you damage yourself trying to forgive my mistake. Don’t you try to protect me from this.”

Concern is etched deep on my brother’s face. I hate seeing him like this. It’s too much.

And he still doesn’t know what’s happening between his best friend and me.

I don’t want to break down, but I am.

I need to leave. I need to get the hell outta here.

Clement is about to say something else, but I brush past him and practically run to the elevator before he even gets the chance to open his mouth. I don’t want to hear his pity. I exposed him. I’ve ruined him and Auclair Capital.

I press the elevator button once. Twice. Three times. Desperate, as if I’m trying to press down the shame inside of me, I keep jamming my finger at the button until the doors finally ping open.

And then I cower inside, praying my brother doesn’t follow.

This humiliation. This misplaced trust. This feeling of being destroyed.

This must have been what Fabien felt after my email.

As the elevator spits me onto the busy street, I pull out my phone and message the one person who knows exactly what this feeling is.