Sentiment Clouds Judgment
My phone buzzed in my pocket—three short bursts that meant someone was calling, not texting—but I couldn't move. Victoria's smile widened as she watched me process the implications of my own email address glowing on her screen.
"I'm sorry," I said, forcing my voice steady. "Are you accusing me of corporate espionage?"
"Accusing?" Victoria stepped into the office, heels clicking against hardwood. "Darling, I'm simply stating facts. These files were sent to your personal email from an internal server. Twice in the past week."
Callum hadn't moved. His expression gave away nothing, but his fingers had gone still on the desk—no tapping, no fidgeting. That stillness was worse than anger.
"I didn't request those files." I pulled out my phone, opened my email, scrolled. The messages were there. Two PDFs, both marked confidential, both from addresses I didn't recognize. "I don't even know what half of these documents are."
"Don't you?" Victoria tilted her head. "Because one of them is a memo detailing Callum's acquisition strategy for Mercer Media. The other is a personnel file for Eleanor Mercer, including notes from private meetings. Fascinating reading, I'm sure."
My grandmother's ring felt tight on my finger. I twisted it once, twice. "Someone's setting me up."
"How convenient." Victoria looked at Callum. "I told you this was a mistake. Hiring her, giving her access, pretending we could trust—"
"That's enough." Callum's voice cut through the room like a blade through silk. "Leave us."
Victoria's smile didn't falter. "We have a board meeting in twenty minutes. They'll want to know about this."
"Then tell them I'm handling it."
"Are you?" She glanced at me, then back at him. "Because from where I'm standing, you're doing what you always do—letting sentiment cloud your judgment."
The air between them crackled with something I couldn't name. Old arguments, maybe. Old wounds.
"Twenty minutes," Victoria said. She walked out, leaving the door open behind her.
I waited until her footsteps faded. "I didn't leak those files."
"I know."
The certainty in his voice caught me off guard. "You know?"
"You're many things, Sloane. Reckless, occasionally. Impulsive when you're angry. But you're not stupid." He picked up his phone, typed something. "And leaking confidential files to your own email address would be spectacularly stupid."
"Then who—"
"Someone who wants you gone." He set the phone down. "Someone who knows that the fastest way to discredit you is to make it look like you're digging into things you shouldn't be."
I thought about the files. The memo about the acquisition. The personnel file. "What was in Eleanor's file?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes." I stepped closer to the desk. "Because someone thought it mattered enough to send it to me. Twice."
Callum studied me for a long moment. Then he opened his laptop, typed, turned the screen toward me. "Read."
The file was sparse. Employment dates, salary history, performance reviews. Nothing scandalous. Nothing that explained why my mother had sold the company she'd spent twenty years building.
Then I saw the notes section.
Meeting 11/15, CH office. Discussed restructuring options. EM expressed concerns about legacy, family reputation. Emotional. Suggested revisiting conversation when she was thinking more clearly.
Meeting 11/22, CH office. EM more receptive to acquisition proposal. Asked about retention of key staff, particularly editorial. Agreed to preliminary terms.
Meeting 11/29, CH residence. Finalized terms. EM signed LOI. Personal effects left in study—returned via courier 12/1.
Personal effects. CH residence.
My nails dug into my palms. "You had meetings at your house."
"Yes."
"Three meetings in two weeks. The last one at your house, where she left personal effects." I looked up at him. "What kind of personal effects?"
"Sloane—"
"What kind?"
His face hardened. "A scarf. A book. Her reading glasses."
The kind of things you left behind when you were comfortable. When you'd been there before. When you weren't just discussing business.
"How long?" My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. "How long were you sleeping with my mother?"
"I wasn't."
"Bullshit. You don't have three meetings in two weeks, the last one at your house, where she leaves her glasses, if you're just—"
"We had dinner." He stood, came around the desk. "Once. After the second meeting. She was upset, I offered to continue the conversation somewhere less formal, and we had dinner at my house. She left her glasses on the table. I had them couriered back the next day."
"And the scarf? The book?"
"The scarf was from a previous meeting. The book—" He stopped. "She brought it to show me. A first edition of something she thought I'd appreciate. She forgot it when she left."
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him. But the memo, the timeline, the way he'd looked when I'd first confronted him about Eleanor—none of it added up to just business.
"Why would someone leak this to me?" I asked. "What's the play?"
"To make you doubt me. To make you angry enough to do something reckless." He was close enough now that I could see the faint scar above his left eyebrow, the one I'd noticed the first day we met. "To drive a wedge between us before you figure out what's actually happening."
"Which is?"
"Someone on the board wants you gone. They've wanted you gone since the day I hired you." He reached past me, closed the laptop. "Victoria's the obvious suspect, but she's too smart to leave a trail this obvious. Whoever did this wants us to suspect her, wants us fighting each other instead of looking at the real threat."
My phone buzzed again. I glanced at the screen—unknown number, no message. Third call in ten minutes.
"You should answer that," Callum said.
"It's probably spam."
"Or it's whoever sent you those files."
I stared at the phone. Let it ring twice more before I answered. "Hello?"
Static. Then a voice, female, distorted. "Check your email. The real story's in the attachments."
"Who is this?"
"Someone who knows what Callum Hargrave really did to your mother. Someone who knows why she sold. And someone who knows you deserve the truth."
The line went dead.
The new email arrived thirty seconds later. No subject line. No message. Just three attachments.
I opened the first one on my phone, but the text was too small to read properly. "I need a computer."
Callum gestured to his laptop. "Use mine."
"So you can see what's in the files?"
"I already know what's in the files, Sloane. That's why I'm offering."
I hesitated, then opened the laptop. Logged into my email. Clicked the first attachment.
It was a contract. Standard acquisition agreement, pages of legal language, terms and conditions. Nothing unusual until I got to page seven.
Seller agrees to non-compete clause extending five (5) years from date of sale. Seller further agrees to make no public statements regarding the sale, acquisition, or buyer without prior written approval.
Five years. My mother had been silenced for five years.
The second attachment was worse. A letter, handwritten, dated three weeks before the sale.
Callum—
I can't keep doing this. Every time I see you, I remember what we had, what I threw away, and it makes the present unbearable. You were right about the company. You were right about everything. I'm not strong enough to save it, and I'm not strong enough to watch it die slowly.
Take it. Take all of it. Just let me walk away with some dignity intact.
E.
My hands shook. I clicked the third attachment.
A photo. My mother and Callum, sitting on a couch in what looked like his study. Her head on his shoulder. His arm around her waist. Both of them looking at something off-camera, both of them smiling.
The timestamp said it was taken two days before she signed the acquisition agreement.
I closed the laptop. Stood. Walked to the window because I needed to move, needed to do something other than look at Callum's face.
"When were you going to tell me?" My voice sounded calm. Too calm. "That you had an affair with my mother? That you manipulated her into selling? That everything you've said to me has been a lie?"
"I didn't have an affair with Eleanor."
"There's a photo—"
"Of two people sitting on a couch." He moved closer, but didn't touch me. "That photo was taken at a dinner party. There were twelve other people in the room. Your mother had just told a story about you, about something you'd done as a child, and we were both laughing. That's what we were looking at—you, actually. There was a photo of you on the mantle."
I turned. "And the letter?"
"Is real." He didn't look away. "Your mother and I had a relationship. Years ago, before she married your father, before Mercer Media became what it was. We were young, we were stupid, and we ended it badly. When she came to me about the sale, yes, there was history. Yes, it complicated things. But I didn't manipulate her, Sloane. She made her choice."
"A choice you influenced."
"A choice she would have made regardless." His voice was steady, but something flickered in his eyes. "The company was failing. She knew it. I knew it. The only question was whether it failed publicly, taking her reputation with it, or whether she sold to someone who could save it."
"Save it by gutting it."
"Save it by making it profitable." He stepped closer. "You want to hate me for this. I understand that. But hating me doesn't change the facts. Your mother sold because she had no other option. I bought because I saw potential. And I hired you because—"
"Because what?" I turned fully to face him. "Because you felt guilty? Because you wanted to finish what you started with her? Because I'm some kind of consolation prize?"
"Because you're brilliant." The words came out sharp, almost angry. "Because you see things other people miss. Because when I read your work, I saw someone who understood what Mercer Media could be, not just what it was. And yes, because you're Eleanor's daughter, and I owed her something. But mostly because you're you."
The air between us felt charged. Dangerous.
"Someone's trying to destroy you," I said. "Using me to do it."
"Yes."
"And you want me to help you figure out who."
"I want you to decide whether you believe me." He was close enough now that I could feel the heat of him. "Whether you trust me. Whether you're willing to risk everything to find out the truth."
My phone buzzed. Another email. I didn't need to check it to know what it would say—more evidence, more photos, more reasons to doubt him.
"Seventy-two hours," I said. "That's what you gave me. To find an alternative to your restructuring plan."
"Yes."
"What if the alternative is exposing whoever's doing this? What if the alternative is burning it all down?"
the balance tipped in his expression. Not quite a smile. "Then I'd say you're finally thinking like a Hargrave."
The door opened. Victoria stood there, phone in hand, expression triumphant. "The board's convening early. They've seen the files. All of them." She looked at me. "They want you gone, darling. Effective immediately."
The conference room was full. Twelve board members, all of them looking at me like I was something they'd scraped off their shoes. Victoria sat at the head of the table, Callum to her right. The empty chair across from him was presumably mine.
I didn't sit.
"Ms. Mercer." The man to Victoria's left—Gerald something, I'd met him once—cleared his throat. "We've reviewed the evidence of your unauthorized access to confidential files. Given the severity of the breach, we have no choice but to terminate your employment immediately."
"I didn't access those files." I kept my voice level. "They were sent to me. By someone who wants me gone."
"Convenient story." This from a woman I didn't recognize, sharp suit, sharper eyes. "But the digital trail is clear. The files were accessed from your login credentials."
"Which someone else used."
"Do you have proof of that?"
I didn't. Of course I didn't.
Callum leaned forward. "I'd like to propose an alternative."
Victoria's smile was razor-thin. "Darling, this isn't the time—"
"An investigation." He looked at each board member in turn. "Give me one week to trace the source of the leak. If it leads back to Sloane, she's gone. If it leads elsewhere, we deal with the real problem."
"And in the meantime?" Gerald asked. "She has access to everything. Files, systems, personnel records."
"Suspend her access. Put her on administrative leave. But don't terminate her until we know the truth."
The board members exchanged glances. Whispered conversations I couldn't hear.
"This is absurd," Victoria said. "We have evidence—"
"We have a setup." Callum's voice cut through the murmurs. "And if we fire her now, we'll never know who's really behind this."
More whispers. More glances.
Finally, Gerald nodded. "One week. But she's suspended, effective immediately. No access to systems, no contact with staff, no presence in the building."
"Agreed," Callum said.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to fight. But the look Callum gave me said trust me, and despite everything—despite the photos, the letters, the lies—I did.
"Fine," I said. "One week."
Victoria's expression could have frozen fire. "This is a mistake."
"Noted." Callum stood. "Meeting adjourned."
The board members filed out, leaving just the three of us. Victoria gathered her papers with sharp, precise movements.
"You're protecting her," she said to Callum. "Just like you protected Eleanor. And look how that turned out."
"Careful, Victoria."
"Or what?" She smiled. "You'll fire me? We both know you can't afford to lose me. Not with the Meridian deal closing next month. Not with the board already questioning your judgment."
She walked out, leaving the door open behind her.
I looked at Callum. "What's the Meridian deal?"
"Nothing you need to worry about."
"If it's leverage Victoria has over you, I need to worry about it."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Meridian Media. Largest acquisition we've ever attempted. Three billion dollars, eighteen months of negotiations, and it closes in four weeks. If anything goes wrong—if there's any hint of instability in our leadership, any suggestion of internal conflict—they'll walk."
"And Victoria knows this."
"Victoria orchestrated half the deal. She has relationships with their board, their CEO, their major shareholders. If she wanted to tank it, she could."
I understood now. Why he couldn't fire her. Why she was so confident. Why this whole thing was so much more complicated than it seemed.
"So we have one week," I said. "To find out who's setting me up, clear my name, and make sure Victoria doesn't destroy the biggest deal in your company's history."
"Yes."
"And if we fail?"
"Then you're fired, I lose the Meridian deal, and Victoria wins." He picked up his phone, checked something. "But we're not going to fail."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I know something Victoria doesn't." He looked up at me, and for the first time since this whole nightmare started, I saw something like hope in his eyes. "I know who sent you those files."
My heart stopped. "Who?"
The door slammed open. A man I'd never seen before—security, based on the uniform—stepped in, breathing hard. "Mr. Hargrave. We have a problem. Someone just accessed the executive server. They're downloading everything—financial records, personnel files, acquisition documents. Everything."
Callum's expression went cold. "Shut it down."
"We're trying, sir, but they're using an admin override. We can't—"
"Where's it coming from?"
The security guard checked his tablet. Looked up, confused. "Your office, sir. The download is coming from your personal computer."
Callum and I looked at each other. We'd both been in the conference room for the past twenty minutes. Neither of us had touched his computer.
Which meant someone else had.
We ran.
His office door was closed but not locked. Callum pushed it open, and we both stopped.
Victoria sat at his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, USB drive plugged into the side port. She looked up when we entered, and her smile was pure venom.
"Too late, darling," she said. "I already have everything I need."
Callum moved fast—faster than I'd ever seen him move—but Victoria was faster. She yanked the USB drive free, slipped it into her jacket pocket, and stood.
"You're done," Callum said. His voice was quiet. Deadly. "Whatever you think you're doing, it's over."
"Is it?" Victoria tilted her head. "Because I have copies of every questionable decision you've made in the past five years. Every corner you've cut, every rule you've bent, every person you've manipulated. Including Eleanor Mercer." She glanced at me. "Did he tell you about the NDA he made her sign? The one that said if she ever spoke about their relationship, he'd sue her for breach of contract?"
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"Oh, he didn't mention that part?" Victoria's smile widened. "The non-compete clause wasn't just about business, sweetheart. It was about keeping her quiet. About making sure she never told anyone what really happened between them."
"That's not—" Callum started.
"Isn't it?" Victoria pulled out her phone, tapped the screen. "I have the original contract right here. Signed by both of you. With a clause specifically prohibiting Eleanor from discussing 'personal matters related to the acquisition or the parties involved.' Tell me, Callum—what personal matters were you so desperate to hide?"
The room spun. I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself.
"Sloane," Callum said. "Let me explain—"
"Explain what?" My voice cracked. "That you silenced my mother? That you made her sign away her right to tell her own story? That everything you've said to me has been—"
"A lie," Victoria finished. "Every word of it. And now I have proof." She held up the USB drive. "Proof that will destroy him. Proof that will destroy this company. Unless—"
"Unless what?" Callum's hands were fists at his sides.
"Unless you step down. Effective immediately. Sign over your shares to me, walk away, and I'll make sure none of this ever sees the light of day." She looked at me. "You too, sweetheart. Resign quietly, sign an NDA of your own, and I'll make sure your mother's reputation stays intact."
"And if we don't?" I asked.
Victoria's smile was all teeth. "Then I release everything. The files, the photos, the contracts. I'll make sure every media outlet in the country knows that Callum Hargrave built his empire by seducing and silencing the women who stood in his way. Starting with Eleanor Mercer."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then Callum laughed.
It wasn't a pleasant sound. It was dark, sharp, and utterly without humor.
"You think you're the first person to try to blackmail me, Victoria?" He stepped closer to her. "You think I've survived this long by being afraid of threats?"
"I think you've survived this long by being ruthless." Victoria didn't back down. "But ruthlessness only works when you don't care about collateral damage. And we both know you care about her." She nodded toward me. "You care what she thinks. What she believes. And once she sees what's on this drive—once she knows the whole truth—she'll never look at you the same way again."
My throat was tight. "What truth?"
Victoria's eyes gleamed. "Ask him about the real reason he bought Mercer Media. Ask him about the clause in Eleanor's contract that gave him first right of refusal on any future Mercer family business ventures. Ask him—" She paused, savoring the moment. "Ask him about the trust fund he set up in your name. The one that pays out when you turn thirty. The one that's contingent on you never working for a competing media company."
The floor dropped out from under me.
"What?" I looked at Callum. "What is she talking about?"
His expression was unreadable. "Sloane—"
"Did you set up a trust fund in my name?"
Silence.
"Did you?"
"Yes." The word was barely audible. "But not for the reasons you think—"
"Then why?" My voice was rising, breaking. "Why would you do that? Why would you—"
"Because your mother asked me to." He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something raw in his eyes. Something that looked almost like pain. "Because she knew the company was failing, knew she couldn't leave you anything, and she asked me—begged me—to make sure you'd be taken care of. So I did. I set up the trust, I made sure you'd have something when she was gone, and I made it contingent on you not working for a competitor because she didn't want you wasting your life trying to rebuild something that was already broken."
"That's not your decision to make." Tears burned behind my eyes. "That's not—you had no right—"
"I had every right." His voice was hard now. "Your mother gave me that right when she signed the contract. When she asked me to protect you from yourself."
"Protect me?" I laughed, and it sounded hysterical even to my own ears. "You've been controlling me. Manipulating me. Just like you manipulated her."
"I gave you a job. I gave you a chance to prove yourself. I gave you—"
"A leash." The word tasted like poison. "You gave me a leash, and you've been holding it this whole time, waiting to see if I'd be obedient enough to keep."
Victoria was watching us with undisguised glee. "Touching, really. But I'm afraid I need an answer. Do you step down, or do I release the files?"
Callum didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on mine. "Sloane. Please. Let me explain—"
"Explain what?" I backed toward the door. "That you've been lying to me since the day we met? That everything—the job, the deadline, the trust fund—was all part of some plan you and my mother cooked up? That I'm just another piece on your chessboard?"
"No." He moved toward me. "You're not—"
"Don't." I held up a hand. "Don't come near me. Don't talk to me. Don't—"
My phone buzzed. I looked down.
A text from an unknown number: Roof. Now. Come alone.
I looked up at Callum, at Victoria, at the office that suddenly felt like a cage.
Then I turned and walked out.
Behind me, I heard Victoria laugh. "Well," she said. "That went better than I expected."
I didn't stop. Didn't look back. Just kept walking, past the conference room, past the elevators, toward the stairwell that led to the roof.
Someone wanted to talk to me. Someone who knew what was really going on.
And right now, I'd trust a stranger over Callum Hargrave.
The stairwell was empty. I climbed, my footsteps echoing off concrete, my blood drumming in my ears. Twelve flights. By the time I reached the roof access door, my legs were shaking.
I pushed it open.
The roof was dark, lit only by the glow of the city below. Wind whipped my hair across my face. I pushed it back, squinted into the shadows.
"Hello?" My voice sounded small against the wind.
A figure stepped out from behind the HVAC unit. Female. Tall. Wearing a long coat and a scarf that covered half her face.
"Sloane Mercer." The voice was familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Thank you for coming."
"Who are you?"
The figure reached up, pulled down the scarf.
I stopped breathing.
Because standing in front of me, very much alive, was my mother.