Chapter 257

[ 1,291 words ]

Katia’s POV

Sam walked in at five forty-seven.

I knew from her face before she said a word. I had been in the middle of reviewing the final Grand Prix logistics—paddock access, sponsor placements, and the security sweep schedule for tomorrow morning—and I looked up and read her expression and put the tablet down.

“Show me,” I said.

She turned her phone toward me.

The New York Ledger. Investigative column. Front page digital edition, posted at five fourteen PM.

CEO OF IG TECHNOLOGIES FACES ACTIVE MURDER CHARGE — ARREST RECORD REVEALS HOMICIDE INVESTIGATION INTO VICTOR HALE’S DEATH

I read the headline once.

I read the subheading.

Sources close to the investigation reveal that Katia Kensington, CEO of IG Technologies and headline sponsor of tomorrow’s Brooklyn Grand Prix, was arrested at the Windsor estate on homicide charges following the death of Halo Systems CEO Victor Hale. A sealed bail agreement, allegedly arranged through personal connections to the Windsor legal team, kept the arrest off the public record. The NYPD homicide investigation remains active.

I kept reading.

The second half of the article was worse.

Questions have also emerged regarding Kensington’s long-claimed marriage. Sources allege the mysterious husband—whose identity has never been publicly confirmed—may not exist. Kensington has cited an undisclosed marriage for seven years without producing documentation or introducing a spouse to family, colleagues, or business partners. Critics suggest the marriage narrative was constructed to protect her professional reputation as a single mother.

I set the phone down on the desk and breathed in once.

“The Grand Prix committee has been calling for the last twenty minutes,” Sam said. Her voice was steady. She was holding herself together for me, which meant she was terrified. “Three of the co-sponsors have already reached out. One has threatened to pull out by midnight if IG’s sponsorship is not suspended p>

“Which one?” I said.

“Meridian Finance,” she said.

Of course. Meridian Finance, whose board contained two members with personal connections to the Sterling family. I filed that information and kept moving.

“The arrest record,” I said. “How did they get the booking number p>

Sam looked at me.

“It was sealed,” I said. “Marcus had it sealed at the bail hearing. The only people who had access to that number were Marcus, Julian’s legal team, and—” I stopped.

Sam said nothing.

I looked at the wall.

The dining room. Delia sitting three feet from me while Julian and I discussed the WEG secure node and the IP traceback. The arrest booking number had been in the documents on Julian’s desk. Documents in a house where Delia lived and moved freely except for the biometric-locked study.

Documents that were not in the study.

“The husband story,” I said.

“Yes,” Sam said quietly.

“Delia,” I said.

It was not a question.

Sam nodded once.

I sat with that for exactly five seconds. The betrayal of it, the specific shape of it—my sister, my own sister, giving a journalist a murder charge and a fabricated marriage story on the eve of the biggest event in my company’s calendar. I sat with it for five seconds, and then I put it down because I did not have time for it right now.

“Call Marcus,” I said. “I want a defamation filing drafted tonight. The footage evidence we already have of tampering goes to the Ledger’s legal team before nine PM—if they are running a story built on fabricated evidence, they are liable, and they need to know we know that p>

“Done,” Sam said, already typing.

“The Grand Prix committee,” I said. “Get me Chairman Ellis on the phone in the next fifteen minutes. Not an email, not a message—him, on the phone, tonight p>

“On it p>

“Meridian Finance,” I said. “Who is their decision maker on the sponsorship p>

“David Park,” Sam said. “CFO p>

“Call him. Tell him IG Technologies has been the subject of a coordinated campaign of corporate sabotage over the last eighteen months—which is documented, which is on record, which resulted in a criminal fraud conviction for the man who ran it. Tell him the homicide investigation will be resolved in our favor because the forensic evidence clearly shows tampering. And tell him that pulling their sponsorship on the basis of an unverified gossip column article thirty-six hours before the Grand Prix will be the most expensive decision David Park makes this decade p>

Sam was writing fast.

“What about the husband story?” she said.

I looked at her.

She looked back at me with the clear, direct eyes of a woman who had been with me since the beginning. Who had sat in a car outside the Windsor estate and said tell me you didn’t when she read my face and understood that I had fallen for a man I was not supposed to fall for. Who knew everything and had never once used any of it against me.

“The husband story,” I said carefully, “is not something we address tonight p>

“Katia p>

“Not tonight, Sam,” I said. “Tonight we protect the company. The personal narrative can wait p>

She looked at me for a moment. Then she nodded.

My phone rang.

Julian.

I looked at the screen. I let it ring twice.

I answered.

“I saw it,” I said before he could speak.

“Marcus is already moving,” he said. His voice was the quiet, controlled version—the one that meant he was furious and had compressed it into something functional. “The Ledger’s editor is going to have a very unpleasant conversation with our legal team before six thirty. The forensic tampering evidence goes with it p>

“I know,” I said. “I have Sam on Marcus now p>

“The Grand Prix committee p>

“I am calling Ellis in fifteen minutes,” I said.

A pause.

“Katia,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “I know who gave them the booking number p>

Another pause. Longer.

“So do I,” he said.

I did not ask him what he was going to do about it. That was his house and his arrangement and his decision. I had my own company to protect tonight.

“The article mentions the marriage,” I said. My voice was even.

“Yes,” he said.

“We do not address it tonight,” I said.

“Agreed,” he said. Immediately. No hesitation.

That was the thing about Julian Windsor. Whatever game he was playing, whatever he was holding and not saying, when it mattered, he moved in the same direction as me without being asked.

I had no idea what to do with that.

“I will be at the Grand Prix tomorrow,” I said. “IG Technologies will be on that grid. Whatever they print tonight does not change that p>

“I know,” he said.

“Julian p>

“Yes p>

“Do not do anything tonight that cannot be undone,” I said. “Whatever you are thinking about doing about Delia — wait. Do it cleanly. Not tonight p>

A pause.

“Alright,” he said.

I hung up.

I looked at Sam.

“Let’s work,” I said.

Sam opened her laptop.

We worked until two in the morning. By the time I went home, the defamation filing was drafted, Chairman Ellis had confirmed IG Technologies’ sponsorship was not being suspended, David Park at Meridian Finance had decided he did not want to be on the wrong side of a documented corporate sabotage case, and the Ledger’s editor had received enough forensic evidence of footage tampering to give their legal team a very long night.

The article was still live.

The damage was not undone.

But the Grand Prix was still mine.

I got in the car.

I drove home.

Tomorrow the grid opened at eight, and I was going to be there.

Whatever Delia had just started—and she had started something tonight that she could not take back—it could wait until after the race.

Everything could wait until after the race.

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