Page 115 of The Lies We Play

We.

First years.

Hid you.

Each phrase touches something tender, then steps back as if it has manners.

I look down at my hand. Bella has gone still against my thigh, which is almost worse than the tremor. Even my body seems to be listening.

Why does Fitzhenry know about Creed?

Why was Creed looking?

Why does the idea of him searching for me hurt more than the years I believed he hadn’t?

No.

Not right now.

I drag myself back to the part of the night that has facts attached.

“Mr. Everhart,” I say, and my voice comes out cleaner than I feel, which is basically my entire brand. “My name is on at least twenty-seven foundation-linked files. I know I didn’t authenticate at least some of them. I found a clause in the original charter requiring unrestricted access when provenance is incomplete or disputed. The access protocol I was sent today does the opposite.”

“I understand.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t think you do.”

A beat, then I add, “Halston signed it.”

“When?” he asks.

“According to the paperwork we received, he did yesterday.”

“Are you certain it’s his signature?”

“I don’t know yet. The document shows a signature. It looks like his handwriting.”

“Send it to me.”

“I can’t send foundation documents to a stranger.”

There are muffled voices on his end. A drawer, maybe. A door. The faint movement of a man already reaching for something, another saying, “We’re on it, babe”.

Then he says, “Good. Don’t.”

I blink. “That was not what I expected.”

“You are right to be careful. Send nothing from institute servers. Copy nothing into personal accounts. Don’t print anything else. Don’t tell your director yet.”

“My director?”

“No one,” he says.

The warning is quiet enough to be terrifying.

“Why?”

“Because if your credentials were used repeatedly, either someone inside Bianchi is compromised, or someone outside has had access for years.”