The police station smelled like old paper and bitter coffee. Emilia sat stiff in the cold metal chair, her blazer too sharp, her heels too high for this setting—but she refused to shrink.
Detective Calder placed a thin file on the desk between them. He didn't open it. Not yet.
"Thank you for coming in, Miss Stone."
"I wasn't given much of a choice," she said coolly.
He smirked, unimpressed. "I understand this is uncomfortable. But some of the transactions traced to offshore accounts are under your name, or at least, your company's."
"That doesn't make me guilty."
"No," he agreed, finally flipping open the file. "But someone used your clearance codes. Someone inside your company. Possibly someone close to your father before he died."
Her stomach dropped. "Who?"
Calder slid a photograph across the table.
Victor Cain.
Her father's old advisor. Trusted. Loyal. She hadn't seen him since the funeral.
"We believe he was involved in shell corporations funneling money from Stone Enterprises for over a decade," Calder explained. "He disappeared two weeks ago. No phone activity, no financial trace."
Emilia's mouth went dry. "You think he set me up?"
"We think he's not working alone. And we think someone in your circle is helping him."
The words echoed in her mind like a ticking clock.
Someone in your circle.
It could be anyone—an executive, a board member, someone who smiled in the elevator just this morning.
"I need to call my lawyer," she said sharply, rising to her feet.
Calder didn't stop her. "You'll want to dig into your father's files, Miss Stone. Because if you're clean, you'd better find a way to prove it before someone dirties you further."
---
Later That Night
She didn't go home. Couldn't.
Instead, she drove aimlessly again, landing at the only place that didn't feel like it would swallow her whole—Sebastian's shop.
It was closed. Lights off. But his motorcycle was parked outside, and she saw movement in the upstairs window above the garage.
She didn't knock.
She just sat in her car, hands on the wheel, staring at her reflection in the rearview mirror.
You wanted power, Emilia. You got it. Now look at what it's costing you.
She didn't cry. She never did.
But upstairs, Sebastian watched the car from behind the curtain, jaw clenched. He didn't go down to her. Not yet.
She wasn't ready to be seen broken.
And he knew the kind of woman she was—the kind who came to you only when the silence became too loud.