CHAPTER 23:Heat Beneath The Surface

The storm broke just after midnight.

Not a storm of thunder or rain—but of whispers. Silent emails between board members. An encrypted dossier dropped into the inbox of an investigative journalist. Anonymous. Verified. Lethal.

The contingency had landed.

And Marcus felt it in the shift of every silence around him.

Anita met Julian in a quiet wine bar tucked into an unlisted corner of the city. No paparazzi. No board spies. Just warm lighting and a string quartet playing something soft and old.

She didn't smile when she saw him—but her eyes softened.

"You look like hell," she said, sliding into the booth.

"You're the one who sent me into it," he replied, smirking.

She didn't deny it.

They sipped their wine in companionable silence for a moment. Then Julian leaned in slightly. "That leak this morning. Was that you?"

"I don't leak," Anita replied. "I redirect."

He laughed. God, he had missed this—her precision, her calm in the middle of chaos. And now, beneath it all, something gentler had begun to surface.

But she didn't notice.

Or pretended not to.

"Thank you," she said finally. "For backing me. Even when you didn't understand why."

Julian looked at her for a long moment. "I've always trusted you, Anita. Even when I didn't agree with you."

That stilled her.

She looked down at her glass, the weight of his words landing somewhere deep and quiet inside her.

She hadn't come here for feelings. She had come to calibrate, to check his resolve.

But his presence steadied her in a way she hadn't expected. Or welcomed.

Across the city, Marcus stared at the headline bleeding across the news ticker:

"New Documents Expose Shell Companies and Board Manipulations at GNV."

The photos were old.

But the truth in them was fresh. And burning.

He turned to Cameron. "How the hell did she find this?"

Cameron's answer came too slow.

Marcus slammed his fist into the desk. "We're bleeding. She's not playing defense anymore."

Back at the wine bar, Anita stood to leave.

Julian rose with her, brushing his fingertips gently against her arm—just briefly.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked softly.

"I'm focused," she said.

She meant it.

But something lingered in her chest as she walked away—an echo of warmth, of something unfinished.

Coincidence, she told herself.

Nothing more.

She had a war to win.