Claire wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He couldn’t have taken it well.”
“I’ve never seen him like that,” Bea whispered. Her forearms prickled at the memory—paper tearing, fast and violent. “It wasn’t just anger.”
“But he believed you,” Umma said softly, putting her chopsticks over her rice bowl.
“He didn’t doubt me. It’s just…that’s the power of a picture. You canknowit’s not real, but your body responds like it is.”
“So what are you going to do?” Claire probed.
Bea looked down at the apple in her hand. “I’m still figuring that out.”
Claire popped another bite of rice into her mouth. “Okay but quick reminder.” Bea glanced up. Claire lifted a brow. “You’remarriedto the CEO of Mount Doom now. Pretty sure he outranks Oliver Fox.”
Umma made a small approving noise. “Rafael will not let anyone harm you.”
“No.” Bea exhaled slowly. “He definitely won’t.”
RAFAEL
Rafael hit the running track hard enough that his shoes barked against the pavement. The park along Temple Row existed for Northgate professionals who liked to pretend they were athletes between board meetings.
Movement helped the body burn off the things the mind wanted to hold.
Like the looping replay of Bea arguing in favor of doing the interview with Fox. A man who had built his reputation on stories extracted from the women he cornered.
Rafael understood men who fought with their fists, and men who fought with strategy and cunning. Men who preyed on the weak while claiming the moral ground were the worst kind. You never knew what small cruelty they would justify in service of their own name.
A runner appeared beside him. Rafael thought he’d pass, but instead he kept pace. Black hair clipped neatly. Obsidian eyes met his.
“Griffin.”
“Dao.”
Within a few steps their cadence matched, the way two experienced runners automatically settled into the same rhythm. Dao was light on his feet, shoulders relaxed, breathing through his nose. The kind of control that came from training, not ego.
“I didn’t know you ran here.” Rafael pushed faster through the next curve.
“Usually mornings.” Dao kept up. “If this is a race, you should warn me.”
Jaxon didn’t mention the meeting yesterday. Or Bea. Max would have found a polite way to circle the subject within the first two minutes. Most men would. Dao simply kept running beside him. Rafael found he liked him more for it.
They completed a fast lap before either of them spoke again, both easing as the path curved toward the trees.
“A contact sent me something odd this morning,” said Dao. “Fox tried to pitch an interview with your parents about twenty years ago.”
Dao Strategic Forensics worked so deep inside regulatory filings that Jaxon knew half the archivists and compliance clerks in Northgate by name.
“What about?”
Griffin Construction had been respectable then, but hardly the kind of company journalists chased.
“The producer files that were digitized had the working title asThe Price of Ambition: The Griffin Family.”
“What year did you say?”
Jaxon gave him the year.
Rafael slowed to a walk. The park continued around them, runners passing, conversations drifting. Dao stopped beside him.