Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 69

The next morning, after dropping the girls at school, I sat in my car in the parking lot and made a decision that would change everything.

I couldn't keep searching blindly through public records and old articles. I needed access to the kind of information that didn't appear on search engines—the kind that lived in whispered conversations and confidential files.

During the board crisis, I'd built relationships with several researchers and investigators who specialized in corporate vetting. Discreet people who knew how to ask questions without leaving obvious fingerprints and delivered results that helped save the company.

Now I reached out to them again.

"I need you to look into the early history of Gerald Morrison," I typed in an encrypted message to my most trusted contact. "Specifically his relationship with Xander Hale and a man named Marcus Chen. Anything from twelve to fifteen years ago. Anything that was buried or settled quietly."

The response came within minutes: "That's a sensitive area. Are you sure you want me digging there?"

"I'm sure. Be discreet, but be thorough."

I sent similar requests through two other channels, then drove home and tried to go about my day. I told myself I was being careful, and the people I'd contacted knew how to operate without drawing attention.

I was wrong. The response came faster than I could have imagined—and it was brutal.

My phone rang just after lunch. Xander's voice was tight with barely controlled tension.

"Something's happening. I need you to come to the office right now."

I drove across the city with my heart pounding, my mind racing through possibilities. When I arrived at Xander's office, I found him standing at his window, his back to me, his shoulders rigid with stress.

"Three investors pulled their funding this morning," he said without turning around. "Two more have requested emergency meetings to 'reassess their positions.' The timing is synchronized—they all cited the same reasons within hours of each other."

"What reasons?"

"Instability, unacceptable exposure risks, and concerns about leadership continuity," he turned to face me, and I saw the exhaustion carved into his features. "Someone coordinated this, Daphne. It's an attack."

My stomach dropped. The timing was too precise and immediate. My questions hadn't uncovered answers—they had triggered alarms.

"When did this start?" I asked, though I already knew the answer would damn me.

"This morning, around ten o'clock. Within the span of two hours, we went from stable recovery to potential collapse," he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't understand it. We were making progress. The board was settling down, and then suddenly everyone started running for the exits like they'd received the same memo."

They probably had. Someone had been watching—waiting for exactly this kind of inquiry. And the moment I started asking questions through professional channels, word had gotten back to whoever was protecting those secrets.

"Xander, I need to tell you something," my voice came out smaller than I intended. "Yesterday, I reached out to some of my contacts. The researchers I used during the board investigation. I asked them to look into Gerald Morrison's history…"

The color drained from his face. "You did what?"

"I needed answers. You kept telling me there was nothing else to know, but I could feel there was more. I thought if I could just understand what happened—"

"Daphne, do you have any idea what you've done?" His voice rose, cracking with something between anger and fear. "Those channels aren't as secure as you think. The moment you started asking about Morrison, someone flagged it. Someone who's been waiting for exactly this kind of inquiry."

"Who?! Who would be watching for that?"

"I don't know!" He slammed his palm against the desk, making me flinch. "That's what terrifies me. I don't know who they are or what they're capable of."

His assistant appeared in the doorway, her face pale. "Mr. Hale, the CFO is here. He says it's urgent."

"Send him in."

The CFO entered with a tablet clutched in white-knuckled hands. His expression told me everything I needed to know before he spoke a single word.

"We have a serious problem," he said, handing the tablet to Xander. "Internal reports are circulating about liquidity concerns. Our credit lines are being reviewed, and two major banks have requested additional collateral for existing loans."

"On what basis?"

"They're citing the investor pullbacks as evidence of instability. It's a cascade effect—the more investors who leave, the more the banks worry, and the more the remaining investors want out," he swallowed hard. "Sir, I need to say something I never thought I'd say in this office. If this continues, we're looking at potential bankruptcy within six months."

The word hung in the air like a death sentence. Bankruptcy. Spoken without irony, without exaggeration, as a genuine possibility for a company that had been valued in the billions just months ago.

I watched Xander's face as he processed the information. The man who had built an empire from nothing, who had survived betrayal and blackmail and conspiracy, now faced the destruction of everything he'd created.

And it was my fault.

"Leave us," Xander said to the CFO. "I'll call a meeting with the executive team in an hour."

The CFO nodded and left, closing the door behind him. The silence that followed was suffocating.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know this would happen. I was trying to protect our family by understanding the threats we face."

"And instead you've triggered the biggest threat of all," his voice was flat, drained of energy. "Whoever is behind this—they're more powerful than I realized. Powerful enough to coordinate an investor exodus in a matter of hours, enough to threaten the survival of my entire company."

"Can it be Morrison himself?"

"Morrison doesn't have this kind of reach anymore…" He shook his head slowly. "There's someone else, someone I've never identified."

I thought about the anonymous letter Xander had received after Marcus Chen's death. "You should have been with him." Someone had sent that—someone who knew what had happened, who wanted Xander to suffer for surviving.

"The letter," I said quietly. "The one you received after Marcus died. What if whoever sent it is still out there? Still watching?"

Xander went very still. "That was years ago."

"Years of making sure no one dug too deep into what really happened," I stepped closer to him. "What if this isn't just about Marcus? What if someone has been managing this entire situation from the beginning—making sure certain questions never got asked, certain connections never got made?"

"Then we're dealing with something much bigger than I ever imagined." He met my eyes, and I saw genuine fear there—something I'd rarely witnessed in all our time together. "And I may have put you and the girls in danger just by existing."

The company I had helped stabilize was wobbling again, and this time the instability was my doing. My questions had set off a chain reaction I couldn't stop, couldn't control, couldn't even fully understand.

Someone was actively protecting whatever lay buried in Xander's past. And they had just demonstrated exactly how far they were willing to go to keep it hidden.