Page 92 of Only the Devil

Hudson’s silence stretches long enough that I check the speaker to make sure we’re still connected.

“Remember, he gave her a twelve-million-dollar salary. She’s safe, but Quinn—” I lean forward, focusing on the elevator display showing Sterling’s floor. “Have you looked into his funding?”

“What I’ve found is public,” Quinn answers.

“The company had massive layoffs at the beginning of the year. How can he afford that kind of salary?”

“His half-brother’s VC fund invested three billion in 2024. An investor with that much at stake is unlikely to let the company fail,” Quinn says.

“And everything’s above board?” My background is not accounting or business, so I’m relying on the team’s expertise, but something doesn’t smell right.

“Everything we can see,” Quinn says. “Daisy’s the one with access to their database and business portal. She hasn’t found anything?”

“No. But she sent files to a forensic accountant. How long does that usually take?”

“I’ll follow up with her,” Quinn says, and I don’t miss the bite to her tone.

“From what I’ve observed, he’s closest to Weaver, the head of HR. Rumors are they’re an item.”

“I doubt that,” Quinn says.

“Why?”

“She’s related to him. A cousin — his father’s sister’s daughter.”

“Interesting. Well, dollars to doughnuts, any scheme he’s involved in, Weaver’s part and parcel.”

“Where did you say you’re from?” Quinn asks.

Hudson says, “Jake, thank you for the update. I’ll share with MacMillan. His primary concern is Daisy Jonas’s safety, as you know.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Copy that. But remember, our goal includes finding out who is providing cover to Sterling Financial. I like your plan. Learning who he contacts when he feels heat will be insightful.”

Yes, it will.

We wrap up the call, and as I sit back watching the monitors flick between corridors, a familiar unease sets in. It’s the unease of going into a situation without an adequate risk assessment. Only this time, it’s not just me and a squadron halfway around the world. No — this time the high-risk territory is home turf, and the woman I love is front and center, and that is all kinds of wrong.

Chapter 30

Daisy

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the Georgetown University campus and the sleek glass entrance of the Rafik B. Hariri Building. My fingers unconsciously twist the silver rings on my right hand — a nervous habit I’ll probably never shake, especially when I’m walking into the digital equivalent of a lion’s den.

Students rush past with backpacks slung over their shoulders; their chatter about midterms and weekend plans is a stark contrast to the weight pressing against my chest.

I smooth my shirt and adjust my earbuds. The familiar weight of my vintage Metallica tee beneath the stiff blazer offers minimal comfort. The lobby buzzes with activity — tech executives in drab suits mingle with academics in rumpled blazers and cardigans, all clutching conference lanyards and coffee cups.

My phone buzzes.

Quinn

Remember, you’re just another attendee. Act normal.

Act normal. Right. Because nothing about this is remotely normal.

The registration table stretches along the far wall, staffed by enthusiastic grad students who probably have no clue they’re volunteering at what could become the biggest tech scandal of the year. I grab my lanyard — Daisy Jonas, Chief Technology Officer, Sterling Financial — and sweep the crowd for familiar faces.