“Nathan, let’s go,” she said.

“We have plenty to work with.”

Nathan looked at me one last time, his eyes cold and transactional.

“Unfreeze the accounts, Catherine,” he said.

“Or we make sure everyone knows exactly how unfit you are.”

They turned toward the door, Sloane’s coat rustling as she walked out.

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone in the silent, dimly lit hallway.

My hands were shaking.

I looked down at my phone.

The screen was dark.

Then, it lit up with a new incoming call.

It wasn’t Margaret.

It was an unknown number.

I pressed the phone to my ear, my breath catching in my throat.

“Hello?” I whispered.

The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, sharp, and hurried.

“Catherine Vance?” the voice asked. “I’m a reporter with the City Chronicle.”

“I just received an anonymous email with several PDF attachments regarding your mental health evaluation.”

“I wanted to give you a chance to comment before we go to print.”

“Do not print anything yet,” I said, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the phone.