Julian Croft didn't smile. Didn't react. Just looked at me with those gray eyes for another long second.
"I have a meeting at nine," he said.
"This is more important."
"You don't know what my meeting is about."
"I don't care what your meeting is about. Your sister is committing corporate espionage from inside your company. That's a four-hundred-million-dollar problem. Your meeting can wait."
He studied me. I studied him back. The coffee shop noise faded behind us.
"Blue Bottle doesn't have seating," he said. "There's a place across the street. Ten minutes."
"Fifteen."
"Twelve."
"Fine."
He walked. I followed.
The place across the street was a bakery. Industrial lighting. Communal tables. He got another coffee. I didn't. We sat across from each other near the window.
"Show me," he said.
I pulled out Sloane's personal phone. Opened the folder. Turned it toward him.
He scrolled. Expression didn't change. Scrolled more. Reached the screenshots of the data. The spreadsheets. The offshore account. The payment confirmations.
Stopped at the buyer name.
He looked up.
"You're sure this is real?"
"I'm a cybersecurity engineer. Was. Before I became a wife. I know data when I see it. That's eighteen months of user information. Email addresses, phone numbers, purchase histories, location data. Everything her followers gave her access to when they followed her links and used her discount codes."
He scrolled again. Found the dates.
"She's been doing this since before I hired her as Head of Strategic Partnerships."
"Eighteen months ago. She was a contractor then. Still had access to your systems through the brand partnership program."
He nodded. Slow.
"You've done your research."
"I had time. I was dead for five hours."
That got a reaction. The smallest shift in his eyes.
"You're the one from the video. The morgue."
"I'm the one."
He looked at me differently now. Not suspicion. Something else. Assessment.
"Why come to me? Why not go to the police? The media?"
"Your sister is sleeping with my husband. She told him to film me dying. She commented 'lol' on the video under a burner account. She's been playing victim for thirty million views while her PR team floods the comments. The police won't touch that. The media will make it a sideshow."
"And I won't?"
"You're the victim here too. She's stealing from you. Four hundred million dollar valuation. If this gets out the wrong way, your next earnings call is quiet. Investors get nervous. Clients leave. You know this."
He leaned back. Looked at me.
"What do you want?"
"Access. Your systems. Forty-eight hours. I'll find the backdoor she's using. I'll map the data flow. I'll give you everything."
"And in exchange?"
"You help me destroy her."
He didn't react to the word destroy. Just tilted his head.
"Destroy how?"
"The public narrative. The legal one. Both. She needs to be exposed for what she is. Not a victim. Not a cautionary tale. A thief who built a career on stolen trust."
"She's my sister."
"Half-sister. Same mother. Different fathers. You gave her the job because your mother begged. I read the emails."
His jaw tightened. Just a little.
"You've done more than research."
"I've been waiting in your lobby for three days. Studying security rotations. Camera blind spots. Your coffee schedule. I know you're guarded at 8 PM but not at 7 AM. I know your assistant takes Tuesdays off. I know you don't use the elevator between 2 and 3 because that's when the cleaning crew runs."
He stared at me.
"You're not a stalker," he said slowly. "Or you'd have approached me. You're studying. What's the thesis?"
"Your sister is sleeping with my husband. Your valuation is built on trust. If it comes out your Head of Partnerships mocked a dead woman online while stealing user data, your next earnings call is quiet."
He blinked.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed. A real one. Low and rough.
"Buy you a coffee?" he said.
"I already said no."
"Buy you a pastry, then. You look like you haven't eaten."
I hadn't. Not really. The pasta at Willa's was hours ago.
He stood up. Went to the counter. Came back with a croissant and another coffee. Pushed them toward me.
"Eat."
I ate. It was good. Flaky. Buttered. I didn't realize how hungry I was until the first bite.
He watched me. Not in a creepy way. In a calculating way.
"Forty-eight hours," he said. "You get access. You find the backdoor. You map everything. Then we talk about what comes next."
"No lawyers. No NDAs. No corporate process."
"You want to do this off the books."
"I want to do this fast. Lawyers slow things down. NDAs get leaked. Corporate process gives her time to scrub evidence."
He considered it.
"You understand that if you're wrong, if this is some elaborate revenge thing and she's clean, I'll bury you."
"She's not clean."
"You understand anyway."
"I understand."
He stood up. Pulled a card from his pocket. Black. Silver text. Just his name and a phone number.
"Be at this address at 8 PM tonight. The code is 1417. Someone will let you in."
I took the card.
"What about your meeting?"
"I'll reschedule."
He walked out. Didn't look back.
I finished the croissant. Drank the coffee. Sat there for ten minutes processing what just happened.
Then I texted Willa: "I'm alive. He's in. More tonight."
She replied immediately: "You're insane. I love you. Be careful."
I walked back to her apartment. Three cats. Cinnamon smell. She was at her laptop, illustrating something with foxes.
"Well?"
"He's giving me access. Tonight."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
She looked at me. "You trust him?"
"I trust that he doesn't want to lose four hundred million dollars. That's enough."