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“I have?” His eyelids lower, and his lips purse.

“It might surprise you, but I leave my investments to the experts. If you recall, I don’t get the same thrill from investing as my father.

” It had been a sore point between them.

Halston hadn’t been keen at all for him to leave Bedrock and launch a new venture.

“Can you get me a list of those trades?”

“Yes.” I add it to my list to request from Sophia.

“Although, I’ll tell you, many trades are based on complex algorithms these days. Our systems could pick up on activities within markets that might appear prescient but are actually reactive.”

“That’s fair.”

“What else?”

“The team identified encrypted communications sent at odd hours from your father’s accounts. Conversations with known extremists and Russian sympathizers. Calls to burner phones where the attacks occurred. The frequency of those calls has been increasing, not declining.”

He leans forward, intrigued. “Phone records show this?”

I nod.

“Can you see the content of the communications?”

“No, I don’t believe so. But for encrypted written communications, my bet is we’ll see it shortly.”

“Right. If you can’t, I’ll ask Nick. He’s got the best in the world.”

“Arrow has some talent, too.” He’s definitely not acting like someone who has anything to hide. And we’re in his office, which means Arrow is listening. “What’re you thinking?”

“That my father might be reaching out to old contacts. I didn’t think he did much of that, but I could be wrong. I would imagine his communications are erratic, nonsensical, but…”

“Maybe they aren’t?”

“AI could help him craft communications. On the phone, I think he’d ramble.

Weave. There would be more evidence of dementia on the phone than in writing.

” He focuses on a far-off spot on the floor.

“If this is true, I fucked up, leaving him with a phone and email. I just didn’t think…

” His foot taps the floor with three quick beats.

“He might’ve had conversations with old friends, but he’s not the mastermind behind anything.

I’ve been watching him deteriorate for the last several years.

His short-term memory is weak. He repeats conversations, doesn’t remember anything from the day prior.

He forgets words or mispronounces them. He’s erratic. ”

“I concur,” I say loudly, hoping that whatever team is listening to us hears my conviction. “When I met him, I had the same conclusion.”

My phone lights, and I read the incoming message.

SF

Technical documents outlining infrastructure vulnerabilities, Dorian’s technical style.

“Anything else?” he asks, possibly reading into my facial reaction. Years may have passed, but he can still read me.

I click to log into our secure site to access an attachment I haven’t yet read.

“The team hacked into servers Zenith owns. Somewhere in Iceland.” I tap away, using the authenticator code to log in.

“They found a series of detailed technical documents outlining infrastructure vulnerabilities, time-stamped months before the attacks. They claim they’re written in your technical style.

I haven’t yet assessed these, but is this document yours? ”

He pushes off the couch and reaches for my phone. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then points at a drawer. “Can you get my readers?”

I pull out a long, narrow drawer and find four readers neatly placed in a row.

“You use readers?”

“Shut it. Not a word.”

“Dorian, if you need glasses, that can make your migraines worse.”

“I read little on the phone.”

“That’s a lie.”

He slips his readers on and focuses on the screen, disregarding me. Classic Dorian, struggling with reading because vanity dictates he can’t look weak.

“These are my team’s documents. Wrote them for a consortium of tech leaders—people who control everything from fiber optic networks to quantum computing cores.

The infrastructure vulnerability assessment was meant to strengthen global systems, not provide a blueprint for attacks.

” He removes his readers, rubbing his temples.

“You know how quantum encryption works; once information is observed, it’s changed.

These documents were meant to stay within a trusted circle. ”

“Who did you share them with?”

“The syndicate. Nine men. They may have shared it with others within their circles.”

He hands my phone back to me. “Like I’ve already told you, it’s a group my father founded fifteen, twenty years ago. Leaders in specific sectors around the world. Representation on every continent. He pulled me in around the time you left me.”

I involuntarily flinch.

“Nick’s in it.” He’s thoughtful. “He’s been a member longer than I have. You think these documents provided the framework being used?”

“Our tech team does.”

“The syndicate fractured. We haven’t reconvened since Nick was ousted.

This is a document… I meant for it to be shared as protection, but…

once a document is shared, you lose control.

” He strides to the window and crosses his arms, looking across the expanse of trees.

“Jiang Tu has been missing for months. If, as we suspect, Xi has him, the Chinese government would have everything of his. Or at least anything he didn’t successfully conceal. ”

Jiang Tu is a billionaire Chinese businessman, and he was on the list Ryan reviewed in the briefing.

If he’s the source, then that would mean China is behind it all.

Chinese businessmen don’t typically work independently from the Chinese government.

Weakening democratic countries could fit with a One China strategy. It’s not inconceivable.

“We’ll need to look at the timeline,” I say, hoping Sophia is listening.

“Is my office bugged?”

I still, knowing the team is listening, and my answer will be heard.

He shakes his head with amusement. “You’re a little obvious. It’s cute, but clearly, you’re aiming to talk to someone other than me.”

I don’t bother mentioning the conferences he’s attended that also placed him on a person of interest list. It overlaps with his interest in Zenith.

“Is that it?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You getting hungry? Can we go back into the house?”

He’s pale. On instinct, I move to him and brush my hand across his forehead while studying his pupils. “Is another migraine coming on?”

I say it softly, as much in hopes to keep the question between us and not those listening in, as to ensure the volume of my voice doesn’t hurt.

His fingers wrap around my wrist, and he brings my palms to his lips. His dark eyes meet mine, and he shakes his head slightly. “Shouldn’t happen again for a few days.”

I hate that he suffers this way. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

The team can wait. It’s been a long day, and we can regroup in the morning.

If China is behind recent events, we’re looking at a new kind of warfare—one where satellite infrastructure and global communications are the battlefield.

With Zenith’s reach, it’s likely he’ll have clients at odds which each other, opposing countries, which makes his position even more precarious.

The intelligence community will need him, but they’d never fully trust him.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and search through lidded food compartments, settling on smoked salmon and cold sesame noodles, set it out on one plate, and grab two forks.

I pour each of us a glass of filtered water.

If I weren’t worried about a recurring migraine, I might get him wine, but instead, I’m going to ensure he’s hydrated.

There’s warmth in his eyes, but also maybe amusement.

“Do you want me to split it on two plates?” I suppose it is presumptive of me to assume we’d share.

“No, not at all.” He moves the barstool near him, patting it for me to take a seat. “I’ve missed this. You taking care of me.”

“Please.” I roll my eyes and nudge him to eat. “You’ve got a full staff taking care of you.”

“Not like you. It never feels the same. They’re doing their jobs. You’re doing it because you care. In spite of everything, you care about me.” He sips his water and sets it down. “I think I could be penniless and you’d still care.”

“That’s true,” I say, meeting his gaze head-on.

He snorts. “You liked me more when I was a penniless grad student.”

“Please. You were never penniless.”

“You thought I was.”

I narrow my eyes. He has no concept of penniless.

He becomes solemn, and his focus falls to the plate, but I recognize that faraway look. He’s gone somewhere, lost in thought. I let him eat, knowing that regardless of what he says, if he doesn’t take care of his body, he’ll pay the price in pain. If not today, soon.

When there’s not much left on the plate, he sets his fork down.

“The rest is yours.”

“I’m done,” I say.

“No.” His lips are set in a firm line. “Eat more.”

I’m ready to insist he eats more, when he snaps his fingers, hops off the stool, and strides to the pantry, coming out with a gold foil wrapper and my favorite chocolate.

“I know you’ll eat this.”

He’s right. I will.

As I take a piece, he lifts his fork to finish off the noodles. I knew he’d eat more.

“Do you remember that time Nick boiled lobster?”

“Stunk up the whole flat,” Dorian says with a smile.

“I haven’t eaten lobster since,” I admit.

Nick, Dorian, and I spent a lot of time together that spring.

He functioned as my biggest advocate, and, as Dorian tells it, it was Nick who pushed Dorian out the door when I’d been sick back home in Boston.

Nick told him to take care of me, which is why he showed up at my door with tissues and cold medicine.

“How is Nick doing these days?”