Page 12 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Silas

T he slam of my office door reverberates through the room.

Through the glass, I catch a parting glance of Jeremy storming down the hallway, a takeout box clenched in hand.

Leslie glances up from her computer as he passes, her eyes flicking to mine for the briefest second before returning to the screen.

I stay seated, eyes returning to the remains of my lunch, appetite gone.

The conversation had started the way so many do: with Jeremy eager to pitch ideas he hasn't thoroughly researched.

Today's gem was a project management software he clearly didn't understand, but I gave him the courtesy of listening.

I always do, though my constructive feedback rarely makes it through that thick layer of pride and hostility he always wears.

What I didn't expect was the pivot to something even more absurd: our open Chief Operating Officer role.

William has floated the idea several times this summer, dropping it into conversations as if it weren't completely insane. I remember the first time he suggested it, and I nearly choked on my coffee when I realized he was serious.

Jeremy. Hot-headed. Impulsive. Chronically underqualified Jeremy.

It would have almost been funny if my father hadn't doubled down on me nominating him in the new year.

I explained to Jeremy the reasons we've kept the position open and what it would take even to consider him for the role. At first, he seemed to be shocked by the standards I gave, but it wasn't the arrogance that got to me. It was the final shot he threw over his shoulder before slamming the door.

“What a fucking surprise. The golden boy doesn't want anyone else to succeed besides his best friend. So much for family, huh?”

Jeremy's outburst wasn't the real issue.

It was what he revealed about my father.

While I've been painstakingly navigating the transition to CEO, William's been making promises I wasn't even aware of, let alone agreed to.

And to make matters worse, he also told Jeremy that Davey is earmarked for Chief Security Officer.

I exhale slowly, but the anger simmers and threatens to boil over.

Davey is my choice for CSO. That decision has been made for months, and my father has been fully supportive of it. But Jeremy tried to spin it as if it were some family handout; as if Davey hadn't spent years working his ass off to prove he was the best person for the job.

I can't figure out what my father's angle is. I already told him no. So, why keep pushing? Does he actually believe Jeremy's qualified? Or does he see this role the same way Jeremy does—as something owed to him because of who he is? And if that's the case, why not nominate Jeremy himself?

Unless that's the whole point. Maybe he told Jeremy I would do it so he wouldn't have to be the one to say no. So he could continue playing the part of the supportive father to the one person he has coddled most in this world. Or maybe he's just finally lost his goddamn mind.

I lean back in my chair, dragging a hand down my face.

The way my father has been acting recently has only made my life harder, and he just made it worse by recruiting Jeremy to start “advocating” for himself in this way.

As if our relationship hasn't been on a downward trajectory since his addiction spiraled out of control .

We've never been close, and the gap only widened after all of the horrific things he did in high school to be expelled and started using.

I won't pretend I handled it the right way. I didn't. Instead of compassion, I met him with anger and disappointment. Jeremy had the world at his fingertips, and he threw it all away for coke and prescription pills.

We bailed him out more times than I can count.

After the first overdose in Aspen. After he crashed one of my father's cars into a storefront in Scottsdale.

After he passed out at a company holiday party and had to be carried out the back door so it wouldn't make headlines. But that was only the start.

Not only did William pay off the family of the freshman in high school he nearly beat to death hazing for football, but he did it a second time when Jeremy nearly broke a woman's jaw in a bar fight. It was excuse after excuse with that one.

“She just wanted our money, anyway.”

“Jeremy didn't know what he was doing.”

“It'll only make things worse if it went public.”

All of it was my father's way of preserving the family image, allowing Jeremy to skirt the consequences of his actions, and I resented my brother for it.

I still do. Sobriety doesn't erase what came before it.

It doesn't guarantee growth or accountability; it just means he stopped using.

And the way he carries himself now? Entitled.

Delusional. As if the world should still be handed to him on a silver platter because it always has been, and why would that change now?

Despite all of this, part of me can't shake the feeling that this wasn't even Jeremy's idea.

Throughout our entire conversation, he just kept parroting the same lines I've heard from my father, which only makes this more confusing because William didn't hand me my position.

Yes, I started as the Strategic Initiatives Manager.

My father is the CEO, and there's no pretending I didn't benefit from that.

I've always known exactly how privileged I am, but it never meant instant job protection.

It was made clear that if I wasn't cut out for the position, William would give it to someone else.

He was ruthless. Held me to a standard so impossibly high it often felt like failure was the only way forward.

He broke me down, built me back up, then did it all over again.

I spent years clawing my way toward his version of readiness, not my own.

Every promotion felt like a calculated risk he was barely willing to take.

And now he's offering my unqualified younger brother the second-highest executive position we've been hesitant to fill with barely a second thought.

Making Shaw resign as COO after catching him with his hand up Natalie's dress at that summer party wasn't enough, but it was the only justice she was comfortable with at the time.

Since then, I've been deliberate—to a fault—about who I bring into the executive team.

Bethany, the Director of Operations we eventually hired, has been a godsend.

She's intelligent, capable, and above all, trustworthy.

When I decide to nominate a COO, she'll be my first choice, but even that decision is a year or two down the road.

I glance at the clock, realizing I've been stewing for far too long.

The reprieve doesn't last. I've barely settled into the quiet of my office to finish the last of my lunch when my phone buzzes on the desk. Davey's name lights up the screen.

I pick up, pressing the phone to my ear as I stab a piece of chicken with my fork. “What now?”

“The servers.” Davey skips the pleasantries.

I release the fork back into the takeout container. “What about them?”

“The team's been digging through them for a few hours,” he begins. “Half the files are locked behind layered encryptions using different methods and structures. None of it is mine.”

I flex my fingers and he continues, “There are also safeguards built in. If we don't decrypt the files the right way, in the right order, it triggers silent internal activity logs to be sent to the primary administrator's account.”

I ask the question I already know the answer to. “Do we know who that is?”

Davey clears his throat. “I'd assume your father.”

My skin prickles with heat. “So you're saying—?”

“I need specialists,” he admits with a sigh. “Cryptographers, specifically. Our team isn't equipped for this, and we don't have the bandwidth to figure it out while juggling the rest of the audit, especially not if we're trying to do this subtly.”

The pressure behind my eyes builds fast—tight, hot. I squeeze them shut, and the first image I see is Elena, tied up in the basement. I'd bet every cent I have that whatever she was looking for is in those files.

What the hell is my dad hiding?

“How long do you think it'll take to find someone?”

“I'm hoping a week, maybe less,” Davey replies.

“Good.” I remove my glasses to pinch the bridge, warding away the growing ache. Christ, I need a good workout to relieve some of this tension. “I want updates daily.”

“Already planned on it.”

For a moment, silence hangs between us. I glance at the clock, the nagging thought in the back of my mind surfacing. “When are you coming back to the office?”

Davey hesitates, which immediately puts me on edge. “I'm still here,” he says.

I frown, sitting up straighter in my chair. “What do you mean by 'still'?”

“I haven't left. I was handling something else.”

“What?”

“Elena.”

I stiffen, my grip tightening on the phone. “You were with Elena?”

“Yes.” He replies, tone calm. “She wants to make a deal.”

“We already knew that. I said no.”

“She'll talk.” Davey blatantly ignores my response. “She wants Luis safe and to speak to Natalie.”

Every muscle in my body coils. “Are you insane? She's going to try to use Natalie against us—to guilt her into—”

“I'm not saying we trust her blindly,” Davey interrupts. “She's desperate for us to let Luis go, and whether we like it or not, she knows more than we do. If we play this right, we can get what we need from both of them.”

“Or we could force it out of her,” I counter through my teeth.

Davey lets out an audible breath. “Why make things messier than they need to be? She's going to cooperate, and we can avoid getting our hands dirty.”

I rake my fingers through my hair, frustration swirling in my chest. “And you just decided to handle this without telling me?”

“I wanted to see what her angle was before bringing you back into it.” His words are almost clinical. “You're too close to this to see her clearly.”

The words sting, but he's right. My judgment has been clouded ever since she introduced herself to me at that art exhibit. Still, the idea of Davey playing mediator between us grates against every nerve.

“What did she say about Luis?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady.

“She wants to get him home,” Davey answers. “And honestly? He's more useful to us alive. If we can leverage his cooperation, he could help decrypt the servers. They were already trying to access them before, so it's not a stretch.”

I exhale sharply, a sudden weight pressing down on me. “Fine. But Nat needs to know what happened, bare minimum.”

“Agreed.” Davey's voice takes on a new edge that only exists for my sister. “She's still hurt that Elena never even called her. It'll be the closure she needs to move on.”

“And what do we do about Elena now?” I ask, fingers rubbing the muscles in my jaw so hard that the joint cracks.

“She's been tied to a chair half a day,” Davey replies bluntly. “Hungry, thirsty, probably in pain. Natalie won't take kindly to seeing her like that. I told Cillian to move her to a long-term room, give her a meal, and let her shower. Cora is helping.”

His calm, practical tone only fuels my irritation. “You're advocating for her now?”

“I'm advocating for what's effective,” Davey shoots back. “This isn't about her or you. It's about the bigger picture. You know that.”

Any retort I have is lost on my tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

“Fine,” I say finally. “But I want to talk to Natalie before she sees her.”

“Of course,” Davey promises. “I'm sending the IT team back to the office and will head home early to talk to her. We'll bring her down when she feels ready to. Just try to keep your head on straight until then. We can't afford for emotions to get in the way right now.”

The line goes dead, and I drop the phone onto my desk with a sigh.

For months, Davey was her biggest critic, the first to warn me, the one who insisted something about her felt off, even when he couldn't explain why. And now that we finally know the truth and he was right, he's the one going soft?

What the hell did she say to manipulate the one person I thought was impenetrable to her lies? Is it because Natalie misses her? Maybe he'll smarten up if Natalie is as pissed as I am once she knows everything.

Or maybe this is exactly what Elena wants. Natalie will want to see the best in her, and that will put Davey in a position he hates: choosing between his wife and me. He'll choose her, as he should, but fuck. Just this once, I wish he wouldn't.