Chapter 4 - The Price of Silence

Naomi Brooks had survived three years as Ethan's executive assistant by knowing when to speak and when to disappear. She scheduled his meetings, kept his temper off the calendar, and carried a second phone for calls he didn't want the company recording.

But the morning he fired Lila Chen, Naomi stopped believing she could remain neutral.

“You can't fire her for asking about invoices,” she'd whispered after the meeting.

“I can fire anybody I want.”

“She's a single mother.”

“Then she should've thought about her kid before stealing company data.”

Naomi had seen the supposed proof. It was a blurry screenshot and a confession Lila had never written.

Later that day, Ethan asked Naomi to take a sealed envelope to a man named Victor Sloane at a private parking garage. She refused to look inside. That night, Victor called the office twice, shouting about “clearing up loose ends.”

Now, in the lobby, Naomi stared at Benjamin's document and realized the janitor had been gathering those loose ends all along.

Ethan marched toward her. “Get my attorney on the phone.”

“Which one?”

“Any attorney, Naomi!”

She reached for her cell, but Benjamin caught her eye. He didn't plead. He didn't wink. He simply gave her the same steady look he'd offered the day she'd cried beside a broken printer and he quietly fixed it.

“Tell the truth when you're ready,” he'd said then, even though she had never explained why she was upset.

One of the three men from the elevator stepped forward. “I'm Detective Aaron Price, financial crimes. Nobody's under arrest at this moment. We are here to secure documents under a court order.”

Ethan barked a laugh. “A court order based on some janitor's story?”

Ruth Maddox opened her leather case. “Based on a judge's order, Mr. Vale. I'd suggest you stop making speeches.”

The crowd shifted. A few employees began filming openly.

Then Naomi's second phone vibrated.

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The message contained no name. Only six words: IF YOU TALK, YOUR BROTHER DIES.

She looked toward the glass doors. Across the street, in a parked black sedan, a man raised his phone and smiled.