Chapter 10: The Watch Recording
The rain started around midnight, drumming a steady, relentless rhythm against the large floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment. I stood in the dark kitchen, watching the distant headlights of cars streak along the wet asphalt far below, holding a mug of cold tea I had abandoned ten minutes ago. My phone lay face down on the granite island, silent and dark. Marcus hadn't texted, and Clara was safe in the Vermont cabin. The board was in total disarray, scrambling behind closed doors to figure out whether to cut Damian loose or sink with his ship.
A soft knock echoed through the quiet apartment.
I didn't reach for a weapon, but my hand instinctively tightened around the strap of my leather shoulder bag sitting on the counter. I walked quietly down the short hallway to the heavy wooden front door, peering through the small brass peephole.
Damian stood in the dim corridor. He wasn't wearing his usual composed corporate mask. His gray suit jacket was unbuttoned, his tie slightly crooked, and his dark hair disheveled by the rain. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot and wide with a frantic, dangerous energy that he was struggling to keep contained.
I unlocked the deadbolt, pulled the door open six inches, and held my ground, blocking the threshold.
"You've been busy, Evelyn," Damian said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that carried the sharp edge of a threat. He stepped forward, trying to push past me into the apartment, but I didn't budge an inch.
"You're trespassing, Damian," I said evenly. "And my neighbors on this floor happen to include two criminal defense attorneys and a federal prosecutor. Try anything stupid and you'll spend the rest of the night in a holding cell."
He stopped, his hand resting on the doorframe, his knuckles white. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You think you're untouchable, don't you? You think a few leaked bank statements and some old video files are going to tear down everything I’ve built? I made you, Evelyn. I brought you into this firm, I gave you your cases, and I can take away everything you are with a single phone call."
"You didn't make me, Damian. You just gave me a front-row seat to your corruption," I replied, my voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of fear. I lifted my left wrist slightly, ensuring the small titanium button on the side of my analog wristwatch was locked into recording mode—capturing every decibel of his voice, every ragged breath, and every unspoken threat. "And now the show is ending."
"Let's talk," he said, his tone shifting abruptly from venomous rage to a smooth, persuasive baritone. He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine, smelling of expensive scotch and wet wool. "Name your price, Evelyn. Do you want partnership? Do you want a controlling stake in the foundation? We can draft an amendment to the NDI tonight. You and I—we can run this entire operation together. You don't want to throw your career away for a desperate woman who couldn't even manage her own life."
I looked into his eyes and saw the hollow, desperate narcissism at the core of everything he was. He truly believed that every human being had a price tag, that morals were just currency waiting to be negotiated.
"My price was paid a long time ago, Damian," I whispered, holding his gaze. "Right around the time you decided that fear was a legitimate management tool."
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Before he could react, I slammed the heavy wooden door shut in his face, throwing the deadbolt home with a loud, metallic click. I stood there in the quiet hallway of my apartment for a long moment, listening to the muffled sound of his fist slamming once against the wood before heavy, retreating footsteps echoed down the corridor toward the elevator.
I walked back to the kitchen, picked up my watch, and stopped the recording. The audio file beamed instantly to Marcus’s off-site server, locking another iron nail into the coffin of Damian’s empire. Friday night was coming, and there was nowhere left for him to hide.
