I arrived at Blackstone Capital at 8:30 AM on my second day, thirty minutes before the weekly department meeting. I had spent most of the night thinking about my encounter with Damien on the rooftop. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see his face when he mentioned my father's name. The way his expression had changed from playful threat to something darker and more knowing.
He suspected who I was. But he hadn't exposed me. Yet.
I sat at my desk and opened my computer, trying to look like any other eager new employee. But my hands were shaking slightly as I typed in my password. Being this close to Alexander Blackstone, knowing he was just a few floors above me, made my skin crawl.
"Morning, Sophia!" Emma Rodriguez appeared at my desk with two cups of coffee. She was my cubicle neighbor, a bright twenty-four-year-old analyst who had started at Blackstone six months ago. "Nervous about your first department meeting?"
"A little," I admitted, accepting the coffee gratefully. "What should I expect?"
Emma glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned closer. "Alexander Blackstone runs these meetings personally. He likes to put people on the spot, especially new hires. My advice? Don't volunteer information, and if he asks you a direct question, keep your answer short and confident."
"Has he ever... been unfair to anyone?"
"Unfair?" Emma laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Last month, he made a new guy recalculate an entire quarterly report during the meeting because he found one minor error. The guy had to stand at the whiteboard for forty minutes while Alexander pointed out every mistake. He quit the next day."
My stomach tightened. Alexander was going to target me - I was sure of it. The question was whether this was normal executive behavior or if he somehow suspected who I was.
At 9 AM sharp, Janet gathered our department and led us to the forty-fifth floor conference room. It was a massive space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a table that could seat thirty people. Most of the seats were already filled with analysts, junior executives, and department heads.
I chose a seat in the middle of the table, close enough to see everything but not so prominent that I would draw immediate attention. Emma sat next to me, and I could feel her nervous energy radiating across the space between us.
"He's always exactly on time," she whispered. "Never early, never late."
At 9:05 AM, the conference room doors opened and Alexander Blackstone walked in.
I had seen photos of him during my research, but nothing had prepared me for seeing him in person. He was tall and imposing, with silver hair and cold gray eyes that seemed to catalog everything in the room. His expensive suit was perfectly tailored, and he moved with the confidence of a man who had never been told no in his entire life.
Behind him walked Damien, looking equally polished in a dark navy suit. Our eyes met for just a moment across the conference table, and I saw something flicker in his expression. Warning? Concern? I couldn't tell.
"Good morning," Alexander said, his voice carrying easily through the large room. "Let's begin."
For the first twenty minutes, the meeting proceeded normally. Department heads gave updates on their projects. Alexander asked sharp questions and made pointed comments about efficiency and profit margins. I started to relax, thinking maybe Emma had been overly dramatic about his treatment of new employees.
Then Alexander's eyes found mine.
"Ms. Laurent, isn't it?" he said, consulting a tablet in front of him. "Our newest addition to the investment analysis team."
"Yes, sir." I kept my voice steady and professional.
"Harvard Business School, magna cum laude. Very impressive credentials." He set down his tablet and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, what do you think of Blackstone Capital so far?"
It was a simple question, but I could feel the weight of thirty pairs of eyes on me. "I'm very grateful for the opportunity, Mr. Blackstone. The company has an excellent reputation in the industry."
"Does it?" Alexander's smile was cold. "And what do you know about our industry, Ms. Laurent? What do you know about real business, not just what they teach you in those ivory tower classrooms?"
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, but I forced myself to stay calm. "I understand that successful investment requires thorough analysis, market awareness, and sound financial judgment."
"Sound financial judgment." Alexander repeated my words like they tasted bitter. "How wonderfully textbook. Tell me, have you ever lost money, Ms. Laurent? Have you ever made a decision that cost real people real consequences?"
"I haven't been in the industry long enough to—"
"Exactly." Alexander cut me off. "You haven't been anywhere long enough to understand anything. You're twenty-two years old with a shiny new degree and no real-world experience. What makes you think you belong at a company like ours?"
The room was dead silent. I could see Emma's horrified expression in my peripheral vision, but I kept my eyes on Alexander. This wasn't about testing a new employee. This was personal.
"I believe in hard work and learning from experienced professionals," I said carefully. "I'm here to contribute and to grow."
"Hard work." Alexander laughed, but there was no warmth in the sound. "Do you know what real hard work looks like, Ms. Laurent? It looks like building a company from nothing. It looks like making decisions that affect thousands of jobs and millions of dollars. It looks like surviving in a world where one mistake can destroy everything you've built."
He stood up and walked around the table until he was standing directly behind my chair. I could feel his presence like a cold shadow.
"Some people understand that pressure," he continued. "Some people thrive under it. And some people..." He paused, placing his hands on the back of my chair. "Some people think they can walk into a company like mine and take what doesn't belong to them."
My blood went cold. He knew. Somehow, Alexander Blackstone knew exactly who I was and why I was here.
"I'm not sure I understand, sir," I said, but my voice sounded thin and shaky.
"Don't you?" Alexander leaned down so his voice was right next to my ear. "I think you understand perfectly. I think you understand that some people make the mistake of thinking they're smarter than they really are. That they can play games with people who are far more experienced and dangerous than they could ever imagine."
The threat in his words was unmistakable. Around the conference table, thirty people sat in uncomfortable silence, watching their CEO psychologically torture a junior employee for reasons they couldn't understand.
"That's enough."
The voice cut through the tension like a knife. Damien had stood up from his seat across the table, his blue eyes blazing with anger.
"Damien," Alexander said, straightening up but keeping his hands on my chair. "Did you have something to add?"
"I said that's enough." Damien's voice was calm, but there was steel underneath it. "Ms. Laurent is a new employee doing her best to answer your questions. This isn't productive."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. "I'll decide what's productive in my own company."
"Will you?" Damien moved around the table until he was standing next to me. "Because it looks to me like you're bullying a junior analyst in front of the entire department. What's the business justification for that?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Father and son stared at each other across the conference table, and I realized I was witnessing something much bigger than an argument about employee treatment.
"The business justification," Alexander said slowly, "is that I need to know if our new hires can handle pressure. Real pressure. Not the kind they experience in business school case studies."
"By humiliating them in front of their colleagues? By making personal attacks that have nothing to do with their work performance?" Damien shook his head. "That's not leadership. That's just cruelty."
"Cruelty?" Alexander's voice rose slightly. "You think business is about being nice, Damien? You think success comes from coddling people who aren't strong enough to handle the truth?"
"I think success comes from building teams, not tearing people down for your own entertainment."
Alexander took a step toward his son, and I could see the rage building behind his cold gray eyes. "You're naive. Just like your mother was naive. Some people in this world are predators, and some people are prey. If you can't tell the difference, you'll never survive in this business."
"Maybe I don't want to survive the way you have."
The words hung in the air like a slap. Around the conference table, everyone was frozen in their seats, afraid to move or even breathe too loudly.
Alexander's face went white with fury. "Get out," he said quietly.
"What?"
"Get out of my conference room. Get out of my building. And don't come back until you're ready to show some respect for the people who built everything you take for granted."
Damien didn't move. "Fine. But she comes with me."
Before I could protest, Damien put his hand on my arm and pulled me to my feet. "Come on," he said. "We're leaving."
I found myself being escorted out of the conference room by the CEO's son while thirty people watched in stunned silence. Alexander's voice followed us to the door.
"This conversation isn't over, Damien."
"Yes, it is," Damien replied without looking back.
The conference room doors closed behind us with a soft click, leaving us alone in the hallway. I could hear my own heartbeat in the sudden silence.
"You didn't have to do that," I said.
"Yes, I did." Damien was still angry, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. "He was out of line."
"He's your father. And your boss."
"He's a bully." Damien looked at me, and some of the anger faded from his expression. "Are you all right?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The truth was, I felt shaky and humiliated and grateful all at the same time. Alexander had tried to break me in front of the entire department, and he had almost succeeded. But Damien had stopped him.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why what?"
"Why did you defend me? Yesterday you threatened to push me off the roof, and today you're protecting me from your father."
Damien was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. "Maybe I don't like seeing innocent people get hurt."
"And you think I'm innocent?"
"I think you're in over your head." He checked his watch. "I have to go. I'm supposed to be in another meeting in ten minutes, but I'll probably be fired before then."
"Will you really?"
"Probably not. Alexander needs me more than he hates me. But it'll be an interesting conversation."
He started walking toward the elevators, then stopped and looked back at me.
"Sophia? Be careful. My father doesn't make idle threats, and he doesn't forget when someone crosses him. Whatever you're really doing here, make sure it's worth the risk."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the hallway with my racing thoughts.
I took the elevator back to the forty-third floor, trying to process what had just happened. Alexander knew who I was - or at least suspected. But Damien had defended me, had put himself at risk to protect me from his father's attack.
Why?
The investment analysis department was buzzing with whispered conversations when I returned. Emma rushed over to my desk as soon as I sat down.
"Oh my God, are you okay? I've never seen Alexander lose it like that. And Damien! I can't believe he stood up to his father in front of everyone."
"Neither can I," I admitted.
"What was that about? Why was Alexander targeting you specifically?"
I shrugged, pretending to be as confused as everyone else. "I have no idea. Maybe he just doesn't like new employees."
But Emma wasn't buying it. "That wasn't about you being new. That was personal. He knows something about you."
She was right, but I couldn't tell her that. Instead, I turned to my computer and tried to focus on the financial reports Janet had assigned me. But the numbers swam on the screen as I replayed the scene in the conference room over and over.
Alexander's words echoed in my mind: "Some people think they can walk into a company like mine and take what doesn't belong to them."
He knew. The question was how much he knew and what he planned to do about it.
I worked through lunch, trying to catch up on the assignments I had missed while being publicly humiliated by the CEO. Around 2 PM, I decided I needed something from my desk drawer and pulled it open.
My stomach dropped.
The drawer was empty. Not just empty - it had been carefully reorganized. All of my personal items were still there, but they had been moved and arranged differently. Someone had searched through my desk while I was in the conference room.
I checked the other drawers. Everything had been touched. Someone had gone through every inch of my workspace, looking for something specific.
My hands were shaking as I opened my purse and checked the inner pocket where I kept my backup USB drive. It was still there, but the zipper was pulled in the wrong direction. Someone had found it, examined it, and put it back.
Panic rose in my throat. The USB drive contained copies of all the photos I had taken at the crash site, plus digital copies of every document related to my father's death. If Alexander had accessed those files...
I plugged the drive into my computer and checked the file properties. The last accessed time stamp showed 1:47 PM - less than an hour ago. While I was dealing with the aftermath of the conference room confrontation, someone had been at my desk copying my files.
They knew everything.
I ejected the USB drive and slipped it back into my purse, my mind racing. Alexander had been testing me in the conference room, seeing how I would react to direct confrontation. While he kept me busy, someone else had searched my desk and found the evidence I had been gathering.
But why hadn't they just destroyed the files? Why copy them and put the drive back?
Because they wanted me to know they had found it. They wanted me to know that my investigation was no longer secret. They were sending a message: we know who you are, we know what you're planning, and we're watching every move you make.
I looked around the office, wondering who had searched my desk. It could have been anyone - security, Alexander's assistant, or even one of my colleagues. I had no way of knowing who I could trust.
My phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number:
"Told you to be careful. They know who you are now. Meet me on the roof at 5 PM if you want to survive this. - D"
I read the message three times before deleting it. Damien had been warning me, not threatening me, when we talked on the rooftop yesterday. And now he was offering to help.
The question was whether I could trust him. He had defended me against his father, but that could be part of an elaborate trap. Maybe Alexander had sent him to gain my confidence. Maybe the whole conference room scene had been staged to make me think Damien was on my side.
But what choice did I have? My cover was blown, my evidence had been compromised, and I was completely alone in enemy territory. If Damien was offering genuine help, I needed to take it.
If he was leading me into a trap, at least I would find out where I stood.
I spent the rest of the afternoon pretending to work while my mind raced through possibilities and escape plans. At 4:55 PM, I told Emma I was taking a quick break and headed for the elevators.
The rooftop was windy and cold, just like it had been yesterday. But this time, Damien was already waiting for me when I stepped through the metal door.
"You came," he said.
"Did I have a choice?"
"There's always a choice. The question is whether you're smart enough to make the right one."
I walked to the edge of the rooftop and looked out over Manhattan. "Your father knows who I am."
"I know."
"Did you tell him?"
"No." Damien joined me at the railing, standing close enough that I could feel the warmth from his body in the cold wind. "But I'm not the only one who figured it out."
"Then why are you helping me?"
"Who says I'm helping you?"
I turned to look at him, studying his face for any sign of deception. "You defended me in that meeting. You warned me they searched my desk. If you're not helping me, what do you call it?"
"Self-preservation," he said quietly. "My father has done things that I can't ignore anymore. Things that need to be stopped."
"What kind of things?"
"The same kind of things that got your father killed."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "You know about that?"
"I know enough." Damien turned to face me fully, his blue eyes serious and intent. "I know Charles Laurent was murdered. I know my father was involved. And I know you're here for revenge."
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to help you get it."
We stared at each other across the windy rooftop, and I felt something shift between us. The dangerous game we had been playing was becoming something else. Something that might actually be trust.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because some sins can't be forgiven. And some debts have to be paid."
The wind whipped my hair around my face as I considered his offer. Everything rational in my brain told me this was a trap. That I couldn't trust the son of my father's killer. That working with Damien Blackstone would only lead to more danger and betrayal.
But looking into his eyes, I saw something I hadn't expected to find.
I saw someone who hated Alexander Blackstone as much as I did.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
"The same thing you want," he said. "Justice."