"l"Front page," Mara said, dropping the tablet on Elara's kitchen table like she was delivering evidence at a crime scene. "Business section, society column, and — my personal favourite — someone's started a thread on Reddit titled 'The Reid-Ashford-Voss triangle is the most insane real-life drama of the year.' It has four thousand upvotes."
Elara looked at the screen. Her own face looked back at her — a photo from a charity event six months ago, clean and composed, nothing like how she felt right now sitting in yesterday's clothes at seven in the morning with cold coffee.
"I need you to not enjoy this quite so openly," Elara said.
"I'm not enjoying it." Mara sat down and pulled the tablet back. "I'm catastrophising efficiently so you don't have to." She scrolled. "Okay. The Telegraph has the most accurate version. They have the police investigation confirmed, they have Victoria's name, they have Marcus Webb's resignation. What they don't have — yet — is the audio file, the hospital payment, or the pregnancy."
Elara's jaw tightened at the last word.
"The pregnancy won't come out," she said.
"How do you know?"
"Because the only people who know are me, Callum, and Dr. Harmon. Callum found it in the server pull and he won't use it. And Dr. Harmon has a medical ethics board to answer to."
"And Victoria?" Mara said carefully.
Elara looked at her.
"Victoria doesn't know," she said. But even as she said it, something uneasy moved in her chest. Victoria had known everything else. Victoria had been three steps ahead at every turn for years. The idea that there was a single vulnerability Victoria hadn't found and catalogued felt dangerously optimistic.
"Call Callum," Mara said. "Tell him to get ahead of the press. Issue a statement before they start speculating."
"His PR team will handle it."
"Elara." Mara set the tablet down. "You are not a side character in this story. You are the story. And right now every journalist in this city is about to start digging into who you are, what you built, and everything that happened to you." She leaned forward. "You should control that narrative. Not Callum's PR team. You."
Elara sat with that for a moment.
She hated that Mara was right.
"Get me my laptop," she said.
— ✶ —
She wrote a statement herself. Four sentences. No emotion, no detail, no invitation for follow-up. She confirmed she was aware of the police investigation, that she had cooperated fully, that she would not be commenting further, and that Voss Creatives would continue operating as normal.
She sent it to a PR contact Nathan had introduced her to six months ago.
It was picked up and published by eleven a.m. Three sentences of hers, distributed widely, saying almost nothing and closing almost every door the press might have walked through.
Nathan texted at eleven-fifteen: *Clean. Exactly right. You okay?*
She texted back: *Ask me tomorrow.*
At noon, Callum's office issued their own statement — longer, more detailed, confirming the police investigation and the departure of Marcus Webb. It named Victoria Ashford. It did not name Elara.
She noticed that.
She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or something else entirely.
At two p.m., her phone rang. A number she didn't recognise — but a different unknown number this time, not Garrett's. She answered carefully.
"Ms. Voss." A woman's voice. Measured, professional. "My name is Caroline Adler. I'm a senior editor at Meridian Publishing. I've been following today's news. I think you have a book in you." A pause. "I'd love to have coffee and discuss it."
Elara blinked. Of all the calls she'd expected today, this was not one of them.
"I appreciate the call," she said. "Now isn't the time."
"Of course. Whenever you're ready." A smile in the voice. "We'll be here."
She hung up and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
Then, despite everything, she almost laugher
At four-seventeen p.m., a car pulled up outside the building.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
The door buzzer sounded.
She pressed the intercom. "Yes?"
"It's Diana." A pause. "I have something you need to see. In person. Right now."
Elara buzzed her in.
Diana came up the stairs quickly for a woman of fifty-eight — purposefully, like someone moving before they lose their nerve. She was carrying a manila envelope, sealed, with nothing written on the outside.
"I found this this morning," Diana said, without sitting down. "In the house. Hidden in a place I should have looked months ago." She held it out. "It's dated four days before the accident."
Elara took the envelope.
She opened it.
Inside was a single document — a legal agreement, two pages, signed at the bottom by two people.
One signature was Victoria Ashford's.
The other was a name Elara had never seen before.
She read the document.
She read it again.
"Diana," she said slowly. "This is a profit-sharing agreement."
"Yes," Diana said.
"For Reid Enterprises. Post — transfer of controlling interest."
"Yes."
Elara looked up. "This was the plan. The accident wasn't just about getting Callum back. It was about getting the company."
Diana's face was grey. "Read the second page," she said quietly. "Read who holds the controlling interest if Callum were to be deemed mentally incapacitated."
Elara turned the page.
Her blood went cold.