Page 17 of Hidden & Held

“But you did,” Cassandra admonishes.

I glare at her, wanting to unleash every ounce of knowledge I have on the policy code on her before Mr. Rhodes jumps in.

“Phoenix, if there was even a possibility of financial misconduct tied to a client—particularly one connected to an entity under scrutiny—firm policy requires escalation.”

“I didn’t have enough information to escalate anything; I had Lena reach out to the bank to demand more information on account setup and ownership,” I supply, trying to keep my voice level even though the panic is building inside.

“We’re not making a determination today.” He raises his hands, attempting to assure me. “But we do need to review your handling of the matter.”

“Effective immediately, you’ll be placed on suspension for two weeks. Without pay,” Cassandra adds, not bothering to hide how pleased she looks.

The blood drains so fast from my hands that they go cold against the arms of the chair.

“Pending further review,” Mr. Rhodes adds, eyeing Cassandra warily. “This is procedural, Phoenix.” His face softens before continuing, “We need clarity before we move forward.”

I nod automatically.

The feeling starts at my feet. Not pain exactly, more like the absence of sensation that happens when something is too large for your nervous system to process immediately. I am aware of the floor beneath my shoes and also somehow not. Then there are my ankles and knees, and the chair beneath me that I will stand up from in four seconds, because that is what you do in these situations.

I have trained for this—years of courtrooms and depositions and conversations designed to make me flinch. You learn quickly that the worst thing you can do in a room full of people waiting for you to break is give them the satisfaction of watching it happen in real time.

I stand up. “I understand,” I say, because those are the right words, and I know all the right words. “I’ll await further communication from HR.”

I walk out the door, heading to my office to gather what I need, focusing on the task at hand, staying calm, concentrating on facts, and shutting everything else out.

The sharp tap of stilettos follows me, and my stomach swoops, knowing she’s not done. She doesn’t say anything, waiting until we’re out of earshot of Rhodes, and then her hand is on my arm, pulling me to a stop. Facing Cassandra, my nose twitches at the expensive, floral perfume. But then I freeze, air catching painfully in my throat as I register the scent underneath—something I’ve used daily for months.

Peppermint.

I know that scent. It’s headaches after court, his thumb rubbing slow circles into my temple while I pretend not to melt into it. You carry stress like it’s a competitive sport, he’d teased once.

“You know, Jackson was incredibly helpful in bringing this information to our attention.”

She keeps talking. I hear the words—his family, wonderful people, the immigration paperwork, a flag takes time to clear—but they are arriving from somewhere slightly outside of me now, like a radio playing in another room.

The numbness that started at my ankles in Rhodes’s office has moved. Knees. Stomach.

I keep my face completely still. This is what I excel at, and I have never hated it more than right now. Standing in this hallway in shoes that suddenly feel like they belong to someone else, smelling something that was supposed to be mine on a woman who just told me, with a smile, that the person I trusted most handed her everything she needed to do this.

The feeling grows in my chest, heavier. I take a breath that doesn’t reach my lungs.

He knew. Jackson heard me speaking to Lena and gave Cassandra everything.

The feeling is in my throat now.

Cassandra smiles and walks away, her heels creating a clean, deliberate rhythm on the hardwood, like a punctuation mark at the end of a sentence she has been composing for weeks. I stand in the hallway for three more seconds.

One.

I will not do this here.

Two.

I will not give this building, this hallway, or her retreating back the version of me that feels things.

Three.

It reaches my mind last, the way the worst things always do—after the body has already absorbed the shock, after the composure has already been assembled, after the decision has already been made to keep moving. It hits quietly, almost gently, and finally.