Chapter 297
“Hi,” Cathey said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes on the floor. “I’m here to help.”
Bella suppressed a groan. A nepotism hire and a corporate time bomb. She couldn’t refuse her — not with Ferd’s official stamp on the paperwork — but she could bury her in busywork.
“Do you know how to use Excel?” Bella asked bluntly.
Cathey bit her lip. “I’m a fast learner.”
“Right.” Bella rubbed her temples. “See those boxes in the corner? Archived project files. I need them sorted alphabetically by client name.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cathey nodded eagerly and scurried over to the corner.
Bella watched her for a moment. Cathey tripped over her own feet, nearly dropping her bag. She looked clumsy and harmless — a perfect act.
Bella turned back to her computer, mentally filing the girl away as a nuisance to manage carefully.
In the corner, shielded by the stack of boxes, Cathey’s demeanor changed entirely. The shyness evaporated. She slipped her phone from her pocket and silently photographed the document on top of the pile — a confidential memo regarding the Project Phoenix timeline.
She typed quickly: I’m in. She thinks I’m an idiot.
The reply came within seconds, from a contact saved as Mom: Good. Find the weak spot. And don’t get caught.
Cathey smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was cold and calculating, and disturbingly reminiscent of Anson Hyde. Three days later, the penthouse had settled into a strange, frigid rhythm.
Dallas was a terrible patient. Confined to his bed or wheelchair, his frustration was a palpable force in every room. He refused Eliza’s help, insisting Weston or a nurse assist him with everything. He took conference calls from the living room sofa with the door closed, barking orders at the screen where his executives appeared in a row. Azalea had commandeered the kitchen, attempting to make healing smoothies that mostly tasted like grass and regret.
Eliza worked at the dining table, examining high-resolution scans of an antique tapestry for a client. The space between her and Dallas felt like miles of arctic wasteland.
The intercom buzzed.
“Delivery from S&D Group,” the concierge announced. “Documents for Mr. Koch.”“Send them up,” Eliza said.
She expected Bella. Instead, when she opened the door, she found Cathey Norton.
Cathey stood in the hallway, holding a thick leather folder, her eyes moving past Eliza to devour the interior of the apartment — the floor-to-ceiling windows, the custom Italian furniture, the sheer scale of the wealth.
“Hi,” Eliza said, leaning against the doorframe. “You must be the new assistant.”
Cathey blinked and snapped her attention back. “Oh! Yes. I’m Cathey. Cathey Norton. Ferd — Mr. Koch — sent me to bring these to… to brother… I mean, Mr. Dallas.”
The stumble was clumsy. Deliberate.
Eliza’s eyes narrowed. Brother.
“He’s busy,” Eliza said coolly. “I’ll take them.”
Cathey hesitated, hugging the folder to her chest. “I was told to give them to him personally. It’s sensitive.”