The hum of Klaus's private elevator was the only sound as it descended from the penthouse. Britney stood perfectly still, the ghost of his commanding presence lingering in the small space. The panic that had threatened to consume her had been surgically removed, replaced by a cold, focused clarity. A secondary project. He'd reduced the most seismic event of her life to a corporate sidebar. And perversely, it was exactly what she needed.
The town car was waiting. The same driver, the same silence. This time, however, Britney didn't feel like an imposter. She felt like an agent returning from a debriefing.
Back in her apartment, the sight of the emerald dress no longer felt jarring. It was a tool, just as Klaus had said. She changed, her mind racing, not with fear, but with strategy. Observe. Gather data. Wait.
Sleep, when it finally came, was brief and restless, filled with dreams of grainy photographs and cold, blue eyes analyzing them.
Monday morning arrived with brutal normality. The commute, the crowded elevator, the buzz of the office—it was all the same, yet everything was different. She saw the world through a new, dual lens: the legal intern and the hidden heiress.
She focused on the Verity files with renewed intensity, building her "impeccable reputation" brick by brick. Every memo she drafted was flawless. Every citation was perfect. This was her primary project, her visible fortress.
But her peripheral vision was now tuned to a different frequency.
At 10:15 AM, an email popped up from Mr. Higgins. The subject line made her breath catch: "Finch Foundation Partnership - Introductory Meeting."
The body was terse. Higgins, Klaus, and she were to have a video call with the Finch Foundation's board liaison to discuss the educational outreach portion of the Verity acquisition. It was a logical next step. But to Britney, it felt like a move on the chessboard Klaus had described.
She walked into the conference room to find Klaus already there, alone, staring at the large monitor. He didn't look up as she entered.
"The preliminary talking points are on the tablet," he stated, gesturing to a device on the table. "Focus on the scalability of the digital literacy programs. Avoid speculative details."
"Yes, sir," she said, her voice calm. She picked up the tablet. It was all perfectly normal. Professional.
The monitor flickered to life, revealing a well-appointed home office. A woman in her sixties with a stern haircut appeared. "Mr. Smith, Mr. Higgins, thank you for your time. I'm Margaret, from the Foundation."
Higgins scurried in, apologizing for being late. The call began. It was dry, technical. Budget allocations, target demographics, metrics for success. Britney spoke when called upon, her answers crisp and informed.
Then, Margaret said, "This all looks excellent. Mrs. Finch is particularly passionate about this initiative. She's asked to be kept closely apprised. She may even wish to sit in on future meetings."
Higgins beamed. "We would be honored to have Lora Finch's involvement, of course!"
Klaus gave a non-committal hum. But Britney felt the shift. Lora Finch. Her biological mother. The woman who currently saw her as, at best, a competent employee and, at worst, a threat to the daughter she adored.
"That would be wonderful," Britney heard herself say, her tone perfectly neutral, even enthusiastic. "Her insight into the philanthropic landscape would be invaluable."
Klaus's eyes flicked to her for a fraction of a second. A microscopic glance of approval. She was playing her part. Observe.
As the call wrapped up, Margaret added, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and Serene wanted me to pass along her regards, Mr. Smith. She's so looking forward to the upcoming gallery opening you're sponsoring."
The air in the room went taut.
"Noted," Klaus replied, his voice colder than a moment before.
The call ended. Higgins immediately began chattering about the positive connection they'd made. Klaus stood, cutting him off.
"Higgins, draft a summary of the agreed-upon points and send it to Margaret. Carter, with me."
He turned and left the room. Britney followed, leaving a confused Higgins behind.
They didn't go to his office. Instead, he led her to a small, private breakout room down the hall, closing the door behind them. It was soundproof.
He turned to face her, his arms crossed. "Your assessment of the call."
It was a test. A debrief.
"It was standard," Britney began, falling into the analytical mindset he demanded. "Margaret is competent, detail-oriented. The Foundation is genuinely interested. The mention of Lora Finch's involvement is a variable. It could be genuine interest, or it could be a move by Serene to insert a hostile influence into the project."
Klaus gave a single, sharp nod. "And the final comment?"
"A deliberate power play," Britney said, the words coming easily now. "Serene used a professional channel to send a personal message. It was a reminder that she has social access to you and that her presence is a constant, even in her absence. It was designed to irritate you and to undermine me by highlighting her connection to your world."
He watched her, a glint in his icy blue eyes. It was the look he got when a quarterly report exceeded projections. "Adequate analysis."
He unfolded his arms and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times and handed it to her. It was open to a security log, far more detailed than the one he'd shown her before.
"The anonymous email," he said. "It was sent from a public terminal. The main branch of the New York Public Library. The day after the gala. The same terminal was used one hour prior to search for articles on… early childhood development and birth records."
Britney's eyes widened. He hadn't just listened to her last night. He'd already acted. He'd deployed his resources to investigate her "secondary project" with terrifying efficiency.
"The library has security footage, but it's of low quality and on a rolling 72-hour overwrite. My team is attempting recovery, but the probability of a clear facial identification is low."
He was treating this like a corporate espionage case. And he was making progress in hours when she would have had no idea where to start.
"Thank you," she said, handing the phone back, her mind reeling.
"It's data," he replied, pocketing the device. "Incomplete, but a start. It suggests our source is local, has a degree of caution, and possesses a specific, personal interest in the subject matter. It rules out a random hacker or a corporate rival."
He looked at her, his gaze intense. "The gallery opening Margaret mentioned. It's this Friday. You will attend. With me."
Another directive. Another move.
"Is that… efficient?" Britney asked, slightly emboldened by his sharing of intel. "Won't it just provoke Serene further?"
"Provocation is a form of data collection," he stated. "Her reaction to our continued public presence will be informative. We need to force her to make a mistake. She is the emotionally compromised variable. We will apply pressure until she breaks protocol."
We. He'd said we.
He was no longer just her general. He was her partner in this conspiracy.
"Understood," Britney said.
"Good." He opened the door to the breakout room. The sounds of the office flooded back in. "Now, return to your primary project. The Verity closing documents need a final review. I expect your notes by end of day."
And just like that, the moment was over. The clandestine meeting in the soundproof room was finished. The secondary project was back on hold.
Britney walked back to her desk, her head spinning. She had a job to do, documents to review. But beneath the surface, a new operation was underway. She had a source to identify, a mother to observe, and a sister to provoke.
She opened the Verity files, a small, determined smile touching her lips. For the first time, she felt not like a pawn in someone else's game, but like a player.
And she had the most powerful player in the city on her side.