Indie's apartment in Astoria smelled like jasmine incense and cheap wine, and the futon was lumpy but safer than anywhere else Thea could think of right now, safer than her corporate apartment with its changed locks or her mother's house where she'd have to explain how spectacularly she'd failed.
Indie handed her a glass of red wine and sat cross-legged on the floor, her expression somewhere between furious and terrified.
"We need to talk about tomorrow."
Thea had been hoping to avoid this conversation, but of course Indie wouldn't let her hide from reality.
"I go to Westlight, I meet whoever this is, I find out what they know."
"Alone," Indie said flatly. "You meet a stranger who knows your schedule and your boss's plans and exactly when they'd be changing your locks."
Thea's phone buzzed before she could answer, and both of them stared at it like it might explode.
UNKNOWN: You're at 34-18 Steinway Street, Apt 2B. Indie's place. You got there at 8:47 PM.
The wine glass slipped from Thea's hand, red spreading across the carpet, because this person knew exactly where she was, had probably been watching her.
Indie grabbed the phone, read the message, went pale.
Another text came through.
UNKNOWN: Relax. I'm not there now. But I needed you to understand that I can find you anywhere. Tomorrow at Westlight isn't a trap, it's your only chance to understand what you're up against before Monday destroys you completely.
UNKNOWN: Dorian's not just firing you. He's making sure you can never work again. His lawyers are drafting documents claiming you embezzled client funds, falsified reports. By Monday, you'll be unemployable and possibly facing criminal charges.
Thea read the words twice, her chest going tight, because she knew men like Dorian Sterling did whatever they wanted when they had money and power and legal teams making problems disappear.
UNKNOWN: Evidence can be manufactured. Documents backdated. Witnesses bought. Come to Westlight tomorrow. I'll show you what he's preparing. Then you can decide if you want to fight back.
"You can't go alone," Indie said, reading over her shoulder.
"I have to," Thea said quietly. "The only thing more dangerous than this meeting is not knowing what I'm up against."
Indie stared at her for a long moment before sighing in defeat.
"Fine. But I'm driving you there and waiting outside."
Thea's phone buzzed again, and she looked down at the message that made everything click into place.
UNKNOWN: One more thing. The reason I know so much about Dorian's plans? I'm the one acquiring his company. Sterling Property Group is mine as of February 1st. And I have very specific plans for what happens to people who abuse their power.
UNKNOWN: Sleep well, Thea. Tomorrow we talk about revenge.
Thea's hands went numb as understanding crashed over her.
Someone was buying Sterling Property Group. Someone with enough resources to track her movements, access confidential documents, know when her locks would be changed. Someone who wanted her at Westlight not out of concern but because she was a piece in whatever game they were playing with Dorian.
Indie took the phone from her trembling hands and set it face down on the table.
"We should call the police."
But they both knew that was pointless, because what would they say, that someone was texting helpful warnings about her vindictive boss, that she was afraid of a meeting that might save her career.
Indie made up the futon and retreated to her bedroom with one final look that said this was a terrible idea but she loved Thea enough to let her make her own mistakes.
Thea lay in the darkness listening to Astoria at night, the distant sirens and arguing couple upstairs, thinking about tomorrow at Westlight, about the gray suit she was supposed to look for, about the stranger who was either salvation or destruction.
Her phone lit up one final time.
UNKNOWN: By the way, I already know you're bringing Indie. Tell her to park on North Sixth Street and stay in the car. What we discuss tomorrow isn't for anyone else's ears. Not yet.
Thea dropped the phone like it had burned her, heart hammering, because this person had known all along, had probably been listening somehow, and the apartment that felt safe minutes ago suddenly felt exposed and transparent.
She closed her eyes and tried to pretend tomorrow was just another day, but sleep wouldn't come, and all she could do was wait for morning and hope whoever was waiting at Westlight was offering salvation and not just a more elegant form of the destruction Dorian had already planned.