It had rained the night before.
Not a heavy storm, just a quiet, steady downpour that left the city slick and glistening under the early morning sun. Siena stared out the penthouse window, coffee cooling in her hand, eyes tracing the way the water clung to the glass.
She hadn't slept.
Not after the envelope. Not after the picture. Someone had followed them. Watched them. Gotten close enough to leave something in their safe space. That wasn't just a threat—it was infiltration. And it rattled something in her deeply.
Alexander stepped into the room, already dressed in a sharp navy suit. He looked calm and composed, but Siena could tell from the set of his jaw that he'd slept as little as she had.
"They've crossed a line," he said simply.
Siena didn't respond.
She just placed her coffee down and turned toward him. "What do we do now? Go to the police again?"
"We already did," he said. "Reeve has the photo. But without fingerprints or a camera catching whoever left it—"
"It's another dead end."
"Not entirely." Alexander came closer. "Reeve traced the type of film used. It's rare. Not something you'd find in a store. There are only four specialty labs in the city that still develop that kind of photo."
Siena looked at him. "And?"
"One of them had a customer bring in a roll last week. Paid in cash. Didn't leave a name. But the employee remembered him. Reeve's getting a sketch."
For the first time in hours, Siena felt something flicker inside her—hope.
"How long will it take?"
"By tonight, we'll have a face."
---
Back at Hartline, Siena's return to her office was met with silence.
Not the usual productive quiet—but tension. Everyone was watching. Eyes darted away when she passed. She could feel it in the air, the way rumors had spread, the way people whispered her name like it was radioactive.
She walked into her office and closed the door behind her. The silence wrapped around her shoulders like a cold shawl.
It wasn't until she sat down that she saw the second envelope.
Plain. Like the last one.
Siena's heart froze. She reached for it slowly, almost expecting it to explode.
Inside—no photo.
Just a note.
"Your father wasn't as clean as you think."
And beneath that, a single line in what looked like her father's handwriting.
"Some debts are buried. Others are inherited."
She read it again and again, her breath getting shallower each time.
What did it mean?
What debt?
What inheritance?
She grabbed her phone and dialed Waverly.
"Find everything we have on my father's private deals—right before his death. I want access to all of it. Personal accounts, trust funds, and board transactions. Everything."
Waverly hesitated. "That'll take time."
"I don't care if it takes all day. Start now."
---
Later that afternoon, Siena met Alexander in a quiet corner café uptown. It was the kind of place where no one paid attention to your conversation, where anonymity was easy to blend into.
Alexander arrived ten minutes after she did, sliding into the booth beside her instead of across.
"I got the sketch," he said, placing a printed image on the table.
Siena leaned forward.
The man was unfamiliar. Late fifties, with sharp cheekbones, and a thick scar under his left eye. Nothing about him sparked recognition.
"Not one of Harold's old guards?" she asked.
"Doesn't match any of the old security profiles. He's either new… or someone who's kept himself hidden for a reason."
Siena stared at the image again. "We need a name."
"Reeve's scanning through the DMV and security databases now."
She looked up at him, eyes tired but determined. "This isn't just about business anymore, Alex. They're digging into my father. They're trying to break me."
"They won't," he said, taking her hand under the table. "But they want you to think he was involved in something dirty."
"What if he was?"
Alexander didn't answer right away.
Finally, he said, "If he was… then the best way to clear it is to expose it. Not run from it."
---
That evening, back at the penthouse, Waverly called.
"I found something."
Siena put her on speaker, and Alexander leaned in.
"There's a sealed trust your father created five months before his death. It was tied to a private entity—Blue Wharf Holdings. He funneled a significant amount of money into it. Then… nothing. It went silent after he died. No beneficiaries. No transactions. Just a pile of cash sitting offshore."
"Could Harold have created that?" Alexander asked.
"No. Your father's signature is on everything. It's legit. But here's the strange part—Blue Wharf is listed in the original merger proposal your father drafted with Blackwood."
Siena blinked. "The one Withers wrote?"
"Yes. It was never submitted. But Blue Wharf was listed as the transitional agent. If the merger went through, they would've handled the legal shifts."
Siena's mouth went dry.
"So my father knew. He knew about the merger. He helped plan it."
"Maybe," Waverly said cautiously. "Or he started the process and changed his mind."
"Then died."
Silence.
The implications hung heavy.
"Find out who created Blue Wharf," Siena said. "Find out if it's still active."
---
Later that night, Alexander pulled her onto the couch.
"You haven't stopped moving all day," he said gently. "Breathe."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I feel like I'm unraveling. The deeper we go, the more I realize—I don't know who my father was."
"You knew the part that mattered," he said. "He loved you. He trusted you. That's why he left you the company, Siena. Not because you were the smartest or the safest—but because he believed you'd fight for it."
She didn't speak for a while.
Then, "Do you think we're going to survive this?"
"I don't plan on losing," he said.
She looked up at him. "Neither do I."
---
The next morning, the silence was broken by an unexpected knock at the door.
It was Reeve.
He walked in, with no preamble, holding a manila folder like it weighed ten pounds.
"I have a name," he said.
He dropped the folder on the table.
The man in the sketch?
Colin Drex.
Ex-mercenary. Former private intelligence contractor. Discharged from the service for black ops violations. No known address. No paper trail.
But one thing stood out.
He once worked security detail for Harold Withers.
Siena stared at the name.
"This man was in my apartment?"
"Most likely," Reeve said. "And if he's working with Harold again… then we're dealing with a cleanup operation. Harold's trying to erase anything that can tie him to the past."
"And we're in his way."
Reeve nodded. "I suggest you move fast. Because people like Drex… they don't leave messages unless they're following up."
---
That night, Siena stood on the balcony again, the wind cold against her skin.
She wasn't afraid anymore.
She was furious.
Her life had been upended. Her father's name dragged through the mud. Her company infiltrated. Her privacy was violated.
They wanted her to break.
But she wasn't going to give them that.
Alexander joined her quietly, placing his hand on her back.
"We go public," she said.
He raised a brow. "You sure?"
"Not everything. Not yet. But enough. A press release. A formal internal investigation into Hartline's past transactions. We go loud. We take control of the story."
He nodded. "Then let's make some noise."
And just like that… they stopped playing defense.
They were ready to fight.