Chapter 142

[ 1,073 words ]

Julian’s POV

The article was in my breakfast briefing at six thirty AM.

Reid had flagged it overnight with a single line of annotation: Planted. See page four.

I read it with my coffee going cold beside me.

The publication was respectable, not tabloid, not fringe. The kind of business journal that sat on boardroom tables and got cited in earnings calls. The profile on Victor Hale was four pages, beautifully written, the kind of piece that took weeks to place and required either significant access or significant money, and with Victor it was probably both.

The first three pages were standard profile material. Victor’s background, Halo Systems’ growth, and his vision for AI in government infrastructure. Complimentary without being fawning. The journalist had done real interviews, real research. It was credible.

Page four was the problem.

Industry sources suggest Halo Systems is in preliminary discussions with a prominent New York-based AI company regarding a potential stake acquisition. The target company, which declined to comment, has faced quiet questions in recent months about the robustness of its security architecture. Several procurement contacts, speaking anonymously, expressed concern about whether the company’s rapid expansion has outpaced its infrastructure stability.

No name. They hadn’t named IG Technologies. They didn’t have to. Anyone in the industry who read this piece and knew the landscape would understand exactly which New York AI company had recently expanded rapidly, had declined to comment, and was now being framed as a security risk in need of rescue.

This was Victor telling the world that IG was vulnerable before the government contract renewal came up.

This was Victor poisoning the well.

I set the briefing down. I picked up my phone and called Reid.

“How long did it take to place?” I said.

“We traced the journalist’s research requests back six weeks,” Reid said. “Victor’s people started feeding her material two months ago. She thinks she broke a story. She didn’t break anything — she was handed it p>

“The procurement contacts p>

“Three of them. All connected to Halo in some capacity. Two are on Halo’s advisory board; one consulted for them eighteen months ago.” Reid paused. “The anonymous sources are his people, Julian. Every quote in that piece came from someone Victor put there p>

Six weeks of preparation. Two months of feeding material to a journalist. Victor had started building this before Dubai. Before the meeting with Katia. Before the Catwoman chaos. This had been running in parallel to everything else, a separate track of the same campaign.

The man was thorough. I had to give him that.

“Call the PR team,” I said. “I want a response brief on my desk by nine. Not aggressive — measured. We don’t mention Halo by name. We don’t confirm the acquisition rumour exists. We simply put out a clean statement about IG’s security architecture from WEG’s position as a partner.” I paused. “And I want it to land before the markets open in London p>

“Done,” Reid said.

I hung up.

I sat at the breakfast table and thought about Victor Hale, thirty-seven years old, ex-MI6, with a decade of collecting information and using it with surgical precision. I thought about the Dubai meeting — the way he had leaned slightly too close to Katia when he handed her his card. The way he had looked at her across the VIP lounge with the attention of someone who had been tracking a target for a long time and had finally put a face to the file.

He had known who she was before he walked into that lounge.

He had known who she was, and he had gone anyway, and he had been charming and generous with his praise and had made his acquisition offer knowing she would refuse it, because the acquisition offer was never the point. The point was the article. The point was framing IG as vulnerable before the government contract renewal so that when Halo submitted their bid and IG submitted theirs, the evaluation committee would be reading about IG’s security concerns in a respected business journal.

This was not a business dispute.

This was a demolition.

And Katia was standing in front of it without knowing the full shape of what was coming.

I had the full file. I had Sir Edmund working the committee angle. I had Daniel Osei feeding Victor false data. I had pieces in place that Victor didn’t know about.

But I had not told Katia any of it.

I had made a decision — quietly, on my own, with the specific confidence of a man who was used to making decisions without consulting anyone — that I would neutralise the threat before she needed to know about it. That knowing would only make her move visibly and tip Victor off.

I had been wrong about that.

This article changed things. Victor had moved publicly. Which meant the battle was no longer quiet. Which meant Katia was going to read this piece this morning – probably already had – and she was going to start making her own moves without knowing what I knew.

And then she was going to find out that I had known about Victor’s history for weeks and had said nothing.

That conversation was going to be brutal.

I deserved it to be brutal. I had made a unilateral decision about her company and her safety without telling her, and I had dressed it up as protection when, honestly, it had been control. The Windsor habit. Decide first, inform later, and justify it as efficiency.

Katia was going to take that apart in about four sentences.

I picked up my phone.

I called her.

She answered on the second ring.

“You’ve read it,” I said.

“I’ve read it,” she said. Her voice was the icy version — not shouting, not heated. The specific cold of someone who was absolutely furious and had decided that cold was more effective than hot.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “We do.” A pause. “And Julian — I want everything. Not the version you decided I needed. Everything p>

I closed my eyes for a second.

“Everything,” I said. “My office. An hour p>

She hung up.

I sat at the breakfast table with the cold coffee and the article and thought about the conversation that was coming.

It was going to be interesting.

I genuinely deserved everything she was about to say to me.

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