Page 46 of The Tracker
“Embezzlement. Conspiracy. Attempted cover-up,” Evangeline announced, her tone a frozen lance. “We preserved every shred of evidence through Silver Spur Security’s forensic backups.”
She nodded once—crisp as a rifle shot. The air snapped taut, every head in the room swiveling toward the entrance as the heavy doors burst open, the noise a thunderclap of finality. In strode Detective Romero, her presence cutting through the tension like a sharpened blade. Her badge flashed at her hip, the silver catching every anxious eye in the boardroom. Flanking her on either side were two uniformed city officers, their movements swift and precise, the kind of authority that said this was no ordinary boardroom interruption. The officers fanned out, boots echoing against marble, as every executive and attorney froze, breath suspended, the crackling energy in the air spiking to fever pitch.
Romero’s gaze swept the room—cool, unflinching, as she took in the tableau of power and panic—before fixing with lethal calm on Squire at the end of the table.
“Stanley Squire,” Romero intoned, voice like iron falling into concrete, “you’re under arrest for conspiracy, fraud, obstruction of justice, and the murder of Peter Rhodes.”
The sharp snap of steel echoed off the marble as Romero secured the handcuffs around Squire’s wrists, the metallic finality ringing in the breathless silence. He didn’t struggle—just straightened in his chair, spine rigid, and turned to glare at Evangeline, hatred sparking in his eyes. The tension between them was a live current, buzzing hot and dangerous as every executive in the room seemed to lean away, caught between awe and fear at the spectacle unfolding before them.
She met that glare head-on, piecing together in that moment all the moves Squire had made—how he’d schemed for years, waiting for her father’s inevitable absence, plotting each step until the day her father left the country on important company business for an extended time. That was when Squire had set the wheels in motion, biding his time in the shadows until the perfect moment to strike.
"You thought you could gut my family’s legacy in the dark. You thought I wouldn’t fight back. You were wrong."
Romero’s gave a slow nod, the only outward acknowledgment of the chaos swirling around them. One of the officers—her posture rigid and professional—stepped in close, voice pitched low for Evangeline’s ears alone. “Langley was intercepted at Henderson Airport—he’s in custody so is Ana Morales. He never even saw us coming.”
Evangeline dipped her chin in a curt nod of thanks. She turned to the stunned gathering, where gilt portraits of Shaws past glared down like jurors.
Evangeline’s gaze swept the portraits of Shaws past, memories rising like old ghosts. Her throat tightened, not with pride, but with something heavier—a lifetime of trying to live up to a name she’d never really been allowed to shape.
“All my life, I was told Shaw Petrochemical was built on honor, that it meant something,” she said, her voice calm but clear, carrying to every corner of the boardroom. “My father gave me a title—one he thought was safe, a job meant to be ornamental. He never expected me to do more than smile and nod. I was supposed to be a figurehead, nothing more.”
She paused, letting her gaze land on Squire, on the board, on every wary face in the room.
“But truth isn’t ornamental. Legacy isn’t a façade. If you build an empire and lose your integrity along the way, you have nothing left at all.”
She paused until the silence grew thick enough to taste. “Effective immediately, I resign as head of Public Relations.”
The words felt heavy, each one slicing away a part of herself that had once seemed inseparable from her family's name and the company they'd built. For so long, her identity had been braided into Shaw Petrochemical, but as she spoke her resignation, she realized those ties had become a chain.
Now, the weight was finally lifting—she was stepping out of the shadows of betrayal, ready to build something new, this time defined by her own hard-won integrity.
A ripple of shocked murmurs spread through the room. One gray-haired director rose, mouth opening like a wounded animal.
Evangeline didn’t wait for a board vote or a round of applause. She left her resignation letter on the polished table, her signature a sharp line beneath the company’s crest. No speeches, no explanations—just the quiet click of her boots as she walked out, Dawson at her side.
Dawson unlocked his truck, glancing at her with a mix of worry and relief. They climbed in, the doors shutting out the city’s chaos, and for a moment the silence felt sacred, almost brittle. Evangeline leaned her head back against the seat, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Dawson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, shooting her a sideways look. “You realize you just torched every bridge in that room, right?”
She gave a tired but genuine smile. “Yeah, It was kind of fun if you don't think about the murder, the corruption and the public relations nightmare they're going to have to deal with... and they no longer have someone to head up the PR Department."
"You're kind of enjoying this, aren't you?"
Evangeline grinned at him. "I am indeed. Besides, you have to admit, I made one hell of a dramatic exit.”
He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. "Hell of a show, Evvy. Remind me never to get on your bad side."
She leaned over and kissed him. "I don't have any bad sides where you're concerned, cowboy, and by the way, I love you.”
His mouth curved. "That's Master Cowboy, brat, and I love you too."
For a moment, the world outside faded—just the hum of the engine and the steady drum of her pulse, the knowledge that whatever storm waited, they were facing it together. As they pulled into Silver Spur’s lot, the city’s sleek towers fell away behind them, replaced by brick and iron, the rawer edge of a world where what mattered was what you could build with your own hands.
Inside the building, Gavin and Reed were waiting, their manner all business but their eyes warm with respect.
“We could use someone with your experience,” Gavin said. “Not just for PR. We need someone who can manage marketing, handle the staff, and keep all the moving parts in sync.”
Reed nodded. “Head of Administration. The job’s yours if you want it.”
Evangeline felt something shift inside her—a blend of relief and hope, soft as sunlight after a long storm. For the first time in years, she wasn’t going to be just the face of a company; she had the chance to shape one. She met Dawson’s gaze, saw the warmth and pride in his eyes, and smiled. “As long as you realize I’m going to have to learn some of this stuff, but at least I know how to look good when I’m faking it.”
Laughter rippled through the room, easy and genuine.
Dawson slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. In that bright, new space—free from the shadows of her old life—she let herself lean into him, feeling only the steady beat of his heart. The hush that followed wasn’t triumph or spectacle, but something quieter and infinitely more precious: the promise of safety, of belonging, of two people choosing each other as the dust finally settled.
With Dawson’s arm around her and the future wide open, Evangeline let herself breathe—ready, at last, for whatever came next.