Chapter 5: Triangles and Torn Edges
Wendy
The sun hasn’t even cleared the skyline, and already the tension is simmering. NDA is quiet at this hour… too quiet. But she keeps her expression steady. Gives nothing away.
The suspicion is creeping in. Ever since Gareth’s warning about Leah, there’s been a low-frequency alarm humming in the back of her mind. She’s been fixated on staying three steps ahead of whatever game Leah thinks she’s playing.
But the paranoia started before that—back when Felicia Mercer’s downfall first hit the headlines. Wendy tells herself she did it for NDA. That exposing Felicia’s fake bidding wars was necessary to protect the agency’s reputation. That Felicia crossed an ethical line, and someone had to act.
The fact that Felicia also threatened Wendy? Coincidental. Convenient. Not the point. Still, the cost is becoming clear. If the truth gets out, the consequences won’t just be professional—they’ll be existential.
She’s mid-thought when she hears Leah’s voice from the hall, crisp and professional—
“Yes, I’ll let her know right away.”
Wendy stares at her monitor, bracing herself.
“Alan’s office just called,” Leah says, appearing in the doorway. “He wants you in the boardroom.”
“Did they say what it’s about?”
“Nope. They said ‘now.’”
Immediately, Wendy knows. There’s no doubt in her mind… This is it.
She rises slowly, smooths the front of her blouse, and schools her features into their default setting: unbothered, immaculate, in control. As she brushes past Leah, she gives her the briefest, ice-cold glance.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
The hallway feels longer than usual. Each step toward the boardroom is a silent act of defiance against the creeping edge of panic.
When she pushes open the double doors, they’re already seated. At the head of the table: Alan Grayson, NDA’s CEO. Early sixties. Silver hair, tailored suit, tanned, un-Botoxed skin. On the surface, he’s approachable, a mentor type with a disarming smile. But Wendy knows better. Beneath the charm is a shrewd operator who’s seen too many rising stars crash and burn. His trust is hard-earned. His patience for scandal is razor-thin.
To his right sits Evelyn Knox, HR Director. During her hiring process, Wendy assumed she was a steely-eyed thirtysomething. Turned out Evelyn was pushing sixty. She’d aged like someone who didn’t plan to retire… ever.
“These correspondences raise serious concerns about your judgment,” Alan says, sliding a thin stack of documents across the table. “What are your thoughts, Wendy?”
She thumbs through the pages, polite smile slipping at the edges, stunned to see her name. Print-outs from her inbox. Her own email correspondence staring back at her. Cryptic exchanges with Taylor Marsh. References to “timing” and “careful handling.” Taylor warning about legal exposure. Wendy demanding “protection.”
Then she sees the timestamps. They align perfectly with another thread: emails between her and Gary Traynor, Alan’s right hand, in which they’d discussed “Client Development.” Bold initiatives to “cross-pollinate.” An internal workshop to develop potential book projects across teams, to be led by Wendy herself.
She sees exactly where this is going. Every client Wendy mentioned? Belonged to Felicia Mercer. This isn’t a leak. It’s a setup. A timeline built to indict her.
Leah. She must have broken into Wendy’s account, found the threads, cross-referenced them, then sent them anonymously, straight to the top.
“On one hand, you’re coordinating with a journalist about sensitive internal matters without ever specifying what they are. On the other, you’re simultaneously angling for a colleague’s clients.” Alan adjusts his cufflinks, his voice all quiet reprimand. “Optically, it’s… compromising.”
Wendy looks him in the eye, refusing to shrink. “Those interpretations are unfounded. My correspondence with Gary was transparent.”
“He said it seemed… off.”
“It most certainly was not.”
Evelyn folds her hands on the table, voice stripped of all warmth. “Regardless, Felicia’s lawyering up. We have to take this seriously. We’re launching an internal review. Full cooperation is expected.”
Wendy fights the urge to push back. “Of course, Evelyn. Whatever’s needed.”
She looks past them, through the glass wall, down the hallway, where Leah’s cubicle sits in clear view. There she is. Typing away, that blank, calculating look on her face. Sure, I’ll cooperate, Wendy tells herself. And then? I’ll retaliate.