Page 103 of A Wolfe in the Woods

A pause. My steps slowed.

“I want pressure applied without fingerprints,” Erik continued. “Quietly. If he resists, we make the resistance expensive. That’s what shell structures are for.”

Another pause. Then, faintly amused, “No. He doesn’t know who’s circling yet.”

My stomach dropped.

I took a careful step back just as the call ended.

The door swung open—sudden and sharp—close enough that I felt the displacement of air.

Erik stood in the door frame, gaze spearing straight through me.

The intense look in his eyes terrified me. Like a wolf having spotted movement of its prey and he was hungry. He’d known. I realized, too late, that he’d heard me, and worse, that he’d scented me before I ever reached the door.

His mouth curved slightly. “You move quietly,” he added. “That’s new.”

“Bernie,” I said before I could stop myself. My voice didn’t shake, and I was proud of that. “Why was he let go?”

Erik regarded me with mild curiosity, as if I’d commented on the weather. “He was no longer useful.”

“He was loyal,” I shot back. “He was good at his job. He’d been here longer than almost anyone. He was kind. He was reliable. He was an important employee to this company, and you just…you justlet him go.”

“You have strong feelings for him,” Erik said lightly.

“Of course I do. I’ve known him since my first day here.”

A faint smile touched his mouth. “Longevity isn’t the same as relevance.”

I stared. “What?”

“The company culture is evolving. We need new blood,” Erik continued calmly. “Bernie no longer aligned with where we’re headed. His role had…diminished.”

“Why would you say that about him?” I shot back, furious.

“This isn’t personal, Blanchette,” Erik said smoothly, his shoulder lifting in a mild shrug. “It’s about efficiency. Being sentimental doesn’t mean long-term growth. I expected you to understand.”

My hands curled into fists. “He lost his wife to pancreatic cancer. He’s lonely and still grieving. He can’t stay in Graymore now.”

Erik’s expression didn’t change. “And that,” he said evenly, “is not my problem.”

His words hit like a slap.

“That’s vile, Erik,” I said. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

He didn’t deny it. His gaze shifted, slow and more intentional. “You’re different lately,” he murmured.

I stiffened, steadying myself, “What do you mean?”

“Your scent,” he said softly. “New perfume?”

“I don’t wear perfume.”

“Interesting,” Erik replied. He didn’t move from the threshold, just watched me with dark, narrowed eyes. “Careful, Blanche. You wouldn’t want people thinking you’re…distracted.”

He didn’t wait for my response. And without another look, he returned to his office, the door shutting with a soft, deliberate click.

I stood in the corridor, staring at the polished surface where he’d stood a second ago, my reflection faint and distorted. The resounding silence felt louder than any insult he’d thrown.