Chapter 131

~ Clinton ~

Sleep never came—not the kind that mattered. Not the deep, merciful kind that clears the fog from your mind and resets the chaos. What I got instead were fragments: broken, restless minutes where my body finally shut down but my mind kept racing like a engine that refused to stall. Every time I drifted off, the parking lot ambush replayed in vivid flashes—the cold muzzle of the gun against my skull, the bat cracking across my head, the gravelly voice promising death if I didn’t back off. When morning finally bled through the blinds, gray and unforgiving, nothing had changed. The bruises on my side still throbbed with every breath, hidden beneath my suit but impossible to ignore. I felt hollow, wired on caffeine and paranoia, yet I dragged myself out of bed anyway. The JeffTech board director had called for a meeting with Miranda Lawson, and showing up was the only thing that felt like forward motion in a life that had suddenly become a minefield.

Driving to the company, the city blurred past in its usual indifferent rhythm—honking taxis, steam rising from manholes, the sharp scent of street coffee vendors cutting through the morning air. The building itself looked exactly as it always had: clean, organized, gleaming with corporate efficiency. Glass and steel that whispered power and precision. But I knew better now. Dark things had happened within these walls, secrets that festered beneath the polished surface. I stepped inside, adjusting my suit jacket slightly to hide the lingering ache in my ribs, and nodded at the receptionist in the lobby. Her bright greeting felt jarring against the storm in my head. I headed for the elevator, the doors sliding shut like a cage closing around me, carrying me up to the conference room on the upper floors.

Miranda was already seated when I arrived, poised and professional behind a sleek mahogany table scattered with neatly organized files. She greeted me with a polite nod and gestured for me to sit. "I wasn’t expecting you this early, Mr. Harrington," she said, her tone measured but curious.

"I decided to come early," I replied simply, lowering myself into the chair across from her. "Had enough spare time today." That wasn’t entirely true. Sitting alone in my apartment, replaying the threats, had felt like slow suffocation. Moving, even for this, was better than drowning in the silence.

"So the head of the board scheduled this meeting with you concerning the Bronx project—the trip you took with Miss Washington," she continued, sliding a thick file across the table toward me. The mention of Bella’s name landed like a spark on dry tinder, stirring an instant flicker of unease in my gut.

"Right," I said, keeping my voice neutral as I scanned the document without really seeing the words. The infrastructure proposals blurred together—numbers, timelines, projections that should have mattered but felt distant compared to the gun I’d stared down yesterday.

"We reviewed the site Miss Washington took you to," Miranda began, leaning back slightly. "The infrastructure proposal is solid. If your firm moves forward, JeffTech will oversee development while your team handles funding and expansion logistics." 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

I nodded slowly, the motion sending a dull throb through my temple. "Timeline?"

"Six months for phase one," she replied efficiently. "Full rollout within a year."

It all made sense on paper—clean, logical, the kind of deal that could reshape neighborhoods and pad bottom lines. Unlike everything else in my life right now, which felt like one tangled knot after another. "And Bella’s feedback?" I asked, forcing the name out.

"She said you seemed interested... that you were leaning toward closing the deal," Miranda replied, studying me with those sharp, observant eyes.

I set the file down, the weight of suspicion pressing heavier than the paper. "Where is she?"

Miranda didn’t answer right away. Instead, she studied me with cautious precision, as if weighing how much to reveal. "She’s not in the building. She’s at an external meeting."

"With who?" I pressed, curiosity sharpening into something colder.

"A venture analytics firm in Midtown Manhattan," she explained. "They’re reviewing data projections for the Bronx project—market viability, long-term scalability, risk assessment."

So she was working. Busy, professional, untouchable. I kept my face neutral, but inside the questions churned. "She’ll be back later, right?"

"Most likely, yes." Miranda tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing. "You’re still on this, aren’t you?"

"Still on what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant.

"The interrogation. You haven’t stopped suspecting her, have you?" Her voice was quiet but pointed, cutting through the corporate politeness.

I said nothing, letting the silence confirm it. I wasn’t pretending anymore. "I’m just being careful," I finally offered.

"Mr. Harrington," she said, leaning forward, "I understand your concern about what happened to Miss Herman. But accusing someone without proof... that crosses lines. Legal ones."

"I didn’t accuse her," I lied smoothly, though we both knew the truth. She didn’t call me on it, but the doubt lingered in her eyes.

"Just... be sure of what you’re doing," she warned softly.

I didn’t reply because I wasn’t sure of anything anymore—except that something was deeply, dangerously wrong. "I tried reaching her earlier," I said after a beat, remembering the unanswered calls that morning.

"And?" Miranda prompted.

"Her line was unavailable."

"Well, that would be because she’s in meetings. She’s been in back-to-back sessions since she arrived at the office today."

Maybe. Or maybe she’d blocked me after our last confrontation—after I’d looked her dead in the eye and asked if she’d pushed Octavia down those stairs. After I’d threatened and warned her. Blocking me would make perfect sense if she had something to hide. What I needed was to see her in person, not through screens or voicemails. This wasn’t just about suspicion anymore. I had to know if she’d had anything to do with the men who grabbed me, held me at gunpoint, and threatened my life. If she had, this went far beyond jealousy or old grudges.

"Let her know that I asked about her," I said finally, standing and adjusting my jacket once more.

"That’s it?" Miranda asked, one brow lifting slightly.

"For now." She studied me a moment longer, then nodded.

"I’ll let her know you asked about her."

"Thank you." I turned toward the door, the hallway stretching longer than it should have, every step echoing with the weight I carried—Bella, my father, the attack, Octavia’s fall. All of it twisted together in a knot I couldn’t yet untangle. Somewhere in that mess was the truth, and I had to find it before whoever was pulling the strings made their next move.

As I reached my car in the underground garage, my phone buzzed with an incoming Instagram message from Annie. I clicked it open. There was a photo of her smiling out a plane window, city lights twinkling far below, with bold text overlaid: "AFTER OVER A DECADE, I’M BACK TO THE BIG APPLE BABY!" It hit me then—the surprise Trudy had teased about. Annie was coming home. A small, unexpected spark of warmth cut through the darkness as I started the engine and pulled away, already planning the call to Trudy. In a world spinning out of control, at least one bright thing was finally landing on my doorstep. But even that couldn’t erase the shadow trailing me. Not yet.