Chapter 4 - The Person Inside the Tower
Phoebe locked the screen.
Too late.
Wade had seen her face.
Maybe not the photograph.
Maybe not the message.
But enough.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Fine.”
He leaned against the doorway.
“You’re a bad liar.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
Soren was in a board meeting downstairs.
Phoebe was alone.
Wade walked in.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Miss Strand.”
She hated when he used her surname.
It sounded like interrogation.
Phoebe stood.
“Where were you the day of the Annex C accident?”
The question landed hard.
Wade did not move.
“Who told you to ask that?”
“Answer.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I was there.”
“Why?”
“Security chief.”
“Were you with Conrad Pierce?”
“Yes.”
“Did you lock a door?”
Silence.
Phoebe’s pulse accelerated.
“Wade.”
“Yes.”
She stepped back.
“You locked Soren inside?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I locked the south corridor.”
“Why?”
“Fire containment.”
“Before or after the release?”
“After.”
“Who ordered it?”
Wade’s face hardened.
“Pierce.”
There it was.
Phoebe stared.
“Did Soren know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I never told him.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
“Convenient.”
Wade stepped closer.
“Listen carefully. Eighteen months ago I made a decision in approximately six seconds. Alarms were failing. We had contradictory reports. Pierce told me the south corridor had contamination. I sealed it.”
“And Soren?”
“Was supposed to be in the north lab.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“No.”
“So your decision trapped him.”
“For ninety-four seconds.”
“That was enough.”
Wade’s expression changed.
Guilt.
Real guilt.
“I know.”
Phoebe’s anger softened by one degree.
“Why hide it?”
“Because the investigation cleared me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It’s cowardice.”
He said it without defense.
Phoebe looked at him.
Wade continued.
“I should have told Soren the full sequence. I told myself it wouldn’t change anything.”
“But it would change whether he trusted you.”
“Yes.”
“And the initials in the override log?”
“Not mine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my executive code at that time was WM-17. The override record uses WM-11.”
Phoebe froze.
“Who had WM-11?”
“No one.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It was retired six months before the accident.”
“Could someone restore it?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Wade’s eyes hardened.
“Anyone with root-level security access.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
Phoebe already knew she would hate the answer.
“Who?”
“Me. Soren.”
“And?”
“Conrad Pierce.”
The pieces moved again.
Nothing stayed simple.
Soren returned thirty minutes later.
Phoebe told him everything.
Wade stood there and did not interrupt.
When she finished, Soren remained silent.
Finally he asked Wade, “Did you lock the corridor?”
“Yes.”
“On Pierce’s order?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Wade looked at him.
“Because I was ashamed.”
Soren’s voice went cold.
“You don’t get to decide which truth I can survive.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Wade said nothing.
Soren turned away.
Phoebe expected him to fire Wade.
Instead he said, “Leave us.”
Wade left.
Phoebe waited.
“You’re not firing him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he told the truth when lying would have been easier.”
“That’s a low standard.”
“It’s increasingly rare.”
Soren sat down.
He looked tired.
Phoebe had never seen that before.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
“You okay?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised her.
She sat opposite him.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Soren said, “Pierce knew my father before I did.”
Phoebe frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“My father traveled. Worked constantly. Pierce attended birthdays.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“It wasn’t. Pierce was available.”
“Did you love him?”
Soren’s face became unreadable.
“As much as a boy can love a man he wants to become.”
Phoebe understood now why the evidence hurt.
This wasn’t boardroom betrayal.
It was family.
The gala was three days away.
Alcott Biomedical’s annual investor event would bring hundreds of shareholders, physicians, journalists, and executives into the Grand Meridian Hotel.
Soren refused to cancel it.
“That is exactly what a sane person would cancel,” Phoebe said.
“A sane person perhaps.”
“A visually impaired billionaire with a possible corporate conspiracy should definitely cancel.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever is moving Helix believes the gala creates distraction.”
Phoebe stared.
“You’re setting another trap.”
“Yes.”
“You really need a hobby.”
“I have one.”
“What?”
“Watching you become increasingly annoyed.”
She rolled her eyes.
But she smiled.
He heard it.
“You smiled.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“You can’t see.”
“I can hear arrogance.”
“That is not how smiling works.”
“Yours does.”
The tension between them had changed.
It no longer felt entirely hostile.
That frightened Phoebe more than the conspiracy.
Later that evening, she helped Soren review the gala program.
He sat without his jacket, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
She tried not to notice his forearms.
Failed.
“Stop staring,” he said.
Phoebe nearly dropped the tablet.
“I’m reading.”
“You stopped reading eleven seconds ago.”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
She cleared her throat.
“Speech begins at eight-fifteen.”
“Move it to eight.”
“Why?”
“I want Pierce in the ballroom before the alarm.”
Phoebe looked up.
“What alarm?”
“The one we’re going to create.”
She stared at him.
“No.”
“It will be harmless.”
“No.”
“Phoebe.”
“I’m a nurse. We don’t intentionally create emergencies.”
“It won’t be an emergency.”
“Then don’t call it an alarm.”
“Technical evacuation exercise.”
“At a gala?”
“Yes.”
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
He smiled.
She hated how much she liked that smile.
Two nights before the event, Derek brought another piece of evidence.
An old external drive.
“I found it in Mom’s storage boxes.”
Phoebe frowned.
“Why would anything from Alcott be in Mom’s things?”
“It wasn’t. I hid it there.”
She closed her eyes.
“Of course you did.”
“I panicked.”
“What’s on it?”
Derek looked at Soren.
“Copies of vendor invoices.”
“Why keep them?” Soren asked.
“Insurance.”
“Against whom?”
“The supplier who made me sign the records.”
“Name.”
Derek swallowed.
“North Harbor Medical.”
Phoebe looked at Soren.
The vendor from the suspicious report.
Derek continued.
“They paid a consulting company.”
“What company?”
“Pierce Strategic Holdings.”
Silence.
Soren’s face hardened.
Derek looked sick.
“I didn’t know it was connected to him.”
Phoebe squeezed her brother’s hand.
For once, she believed him immediately.
They opened the drive.
Invoices.
Transfers.
Shell companies.
Enough to prove money moved.
Not enough to prove sabotage.
Then Phoebe found a folder called HELIX.
Inside was a scanned memo.
Signed by Conrad Pierce.
PROJECT ASSET RELOCATION AUTHORIZED PENDING EXECUTIVE INCAPACITY.
Phoebe read it twice.
“What does executive incapacity mean?”
Soren answered quietly.
“Me.”
The memo was dated nine days before his accident.
Derek looked horrified.
“He planned for you to be removed.”
“Apparently.”
Phoebe read further.
“But it says relocation only if you were incapacitated.”
“Yes.”
“Why not just fire you?”
Soren smiled without humor.
“I owned thirty-eight percent of the voting shares.”
“So they couldn’t.”
“Correct.”
Derek whispered, “Then they needed everyone to believe you couldn’t lead.”
The room went silent.
Soren’s blindness had not merely been a consequence.
It had become the argument used against him.
Phoebe felt fury rise in her chest.
Not pity.
Fury.
The gala became unavoidable after that.
They needed Pierce exposed in front of enough witnesses that he could not bury the evidence.
But the final proof was still missing.
The actual authorization linking him to the safety override.
On the morning of the gala, Phoebe entered Soren’s office and found him standing by the window.
“You nervous?” she asked.
“No.”
“Liar.”
He turned.
“How do you know?”
“You taught me.”
He smiled.
Then said, “Phoebe.”
Something in his voice made her stop.
“If tonight goes wrong—”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“Yes, I do. Something noble and irritating.”
“I was going to say leave.”
“Exactly.”
“This isn’t your fight.”
“My brother is in it.”
“That doesn’t make it yours.”
“You made it mine six weeks ago.”
“That was a mistake.”
Phoebe went still.
Soren continued.
“Bringing you here because I needed access to Derek was wrong.”
The apology surprised her.
“But if I could change it,” he said, “I would still want to know you.”
Neither moved.
The office suddenly felt too quiet.
Phoebe’s voice softened.
“That might be the least terrible thing you’ve ever said.”
“I have limited experience.”
She stepped closer.
For one impossible second, she thought he might kiss her.
Then Wade entered.
“Sorry.”
Phoebe moved back.
Wade definitely noticed.
He wisely said nothing.
“I found the access source.”
Soren’s expression sharpened.
“The executive-file breach?”
“Yes.”
“Whose credentials?”
Wade hesitated.
Phoebe’s stomach tightened.
“Say it.”
Wade looked directly at Soren.
“Mine.”
Soren said nothing.
Wade continued.
“But the login came from your private residence.”
Phoebe stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” Wade said.
“It isn’t.”
Soren’s face changed.
Only four people had unrestricted access to his home.
Wade.
His house manager.
Phoebe.
And Conrad Pierce.
Wade placed a printout on the desk.
“The login happened yesterday at 11:42 p.m.”
Phoebe remembered exactly where she had been.
With Soren.
Wade had been downstairs in security.
The house manager was visiting family in Wisconsin.
That left one name.
Soren whispered it.
“Conrad.”
And downstairs, as if summoned by the thought itself, the elevator chimed.
A receptionist’s voice came through the intercom.
“Mr. Alcott?”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Pierce is here.”
Soren’s expression became completely calm.
May you like
“Send him in.”
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