Vivian.
He turned slowly. She stood with her arms crossed, posture tight, tension radiating beneath her polished exterior. Her blazer was immaculate, but her eyes gave her away: red-rimmed, restless, watching the room for threats like someone accustomed to control slipping through her fingers.
"Maintenance starts early," he said evenly.
She forced a smile. "You caused quite a disruption last night."
"No," he replied calmly. "I asked a question."
Her smile wavered. "Your tone was inappropriate, and your insinuations were—"
"—accurate."
She bristled, lowering her voice. "If you continue this behavior, we'll have to—"
He took a step closer—not aggressive, just enough for her to realize she couldn't intimidate him. "You'll what?"
She froze. The room quieted. For the first time, she saw it: the stillness in him wasn't weakness; it was restraint.
"I'd choose your next steps carefully," he said, voice low but audible. "You're running out of places to hide."
Her mouth opened, then closed. She spun away quickly, heels clicking sharply across the tile as she retreated toward the board meeting. He watched her go, then turned back to his clipboard as if nothing had happened.
Minutes later, his phone buzzed again: a message from Rowan. We recovered the full hallway clip and part of the audio. Meeting with local authorities at noon. Be ready.
He read it twice, letting each word settle. Today wasn't the beginning of the end; it was the middle of the collapse. He closed the clipboard, exhaled slowly, and walked toward the exit with steady, purposeful steps. Everything was moving exactly where it needed to.