Then the second headline hit like an unexpected punch:
VP of operations resigns amid nephew’s harassment scandal.
Harmon Wade had resigned effective immediately.
Too clean. Too easy.
Whitney whispered, “Something doesn’t add up.”
I felt it too. Harmon didn’t admit defeat.
Deborah called me into her office and slid a tablet across her desk. An internal email from Harmon to the board, sent minutes before his resignation.
One line stood out:
In light of information Miss Maro apparently possesses regarding Barcelona, I believe my continued leadership would only further damage the company.
I stared at it.
I’d never claimed to have information about Harmon in Barcelona.
Only Landry.
Deborah’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Interesting. Harmon believes otherwise.”
A chill moved through my spine.
Whatever happened in Barcelona, Harmon was willing to abandon his throne rather than let it surface.
And that meant this story wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
Part 3
The message that arrived on my secure app that afternoon was short enough to fit in a single breath.
You should see this. Deleted from our security archives yesterday, but I made a copy.
The sender was a hotel staffer from Barcelona—someone I’d shared coffees with in the lobby after my Spanish slipped out and we realized we could speak without being overheard.
An attachment sat beneath the message: a video file.
My hands went cold before I even opened it.
I found an empty conference room, pulled the blinds, and pressed play.
The footage was grainy but unmistakable. A hotel corridor. Carpet patterned with geometric shapes. A timestamp: 2:14 a.m., during the retreat.
Landry appeared first, arm looped around a woman who couldn’t quite walk straight. Her head lolled slightly as if she was fighting gravity. She wasn’t an employee. I recognized her in an instant from dinner photos and client meetings: Ivy Lambert, spouse of Gregory Lambert, CEO of Lambert Solutions—one of our biggest clients.
Landry looked over his shoulder, then toward the elevator, his posture too practiced to be accidental.
Then Harmon entered from the opposite end of the corridor, moving fast, face tight with irritation. He said something—no audio, but his mouth shape and sharp gestures carried anger.
Landry responded with a shrug and that easy grin of his, the one he used like a weapon.
Harmon grabbed Ivy’s other arm.
Together, uncle and nephew half carried, half dragged her toward the elevator.
The video cut out before the doors opened.
I sat back, the chair creaking under the sudden weight of my body going numb.
This wasn’t just harassment.
This was something that made my skin crawl in a deeper place.
My phone buzzed. Whitney.
Emergency board meeting called for tomorrow morning. Something big is happening.
Then, another text—from an unfamiliar number.
Be careful what you wish for. Not all monsters die when exposed to light. Some just change their hunting grounds.
My pulse thudded in my ears.
I screenshot it and sent it to Deborah.
When I walked into work the next morning, the building felt like a shaken snow globe—everyone in motion, everyone whispering, nothing settled.
Whitney met me at the elevator. “The boardroom is packed. Legal team, outside counsel, executives I’ve never even seen.”
“Any sign of Landry or Harmon?”
“Landry’s lawyer called to cancel his interview,” she said. “Rumor is he hired a crisis management firm.”
Of course he did.
At 8:30, Deborah pulled me into her office. Ariel, head of security, stood beside the window with the rigid posture of someone used to being underestimated.
“The Barcelona video is concerning,” Deborah said without preamble. “Ariel’s been digging since yesterday.”
Ariel nodded. “The woman is Ivy Lambert. I contacted her.”
“Is she okay?” I asked.
Ariel’s jaw tightened. “Initially, she denied anything happened. When I mentioned the existence of footage, she became distressed and hung up.”
Deborah added, “An hour later, Gregory Lambert called me demanding to know why we were harassing his wife about ‘ancient history.’ He threatened to pull their business.”
“But Barcelona was four months ago,” I said.
“Exactly,” Ariel replied. “When I tried following up with hotel staff, they suddenly claimed no knowledge of incidents. Someone got to them.”
Deborah glanced at me. “And this morning, someone attempted to access confidential financial records using my credentials.”
My stomach turned. “They’re covering tracks.”
Deborah’s eyes were hard. “Which means we’re closer than they want us to be.”
We entered the boardroom to a sea of suits and tension. Bennett called the meeting to order, voice steady but grim.
“As you’re aware, serious allegations have emerged regarding Landry Mitchell’s conduct. The independent investigation begins today. However, new information has come to light expanding the scope.”
Thirsten, the general counsel, looked like he’d swallowed a stone.
Deborah stood and projected the Barcelona corridor footage onto the screen.
Murmurs rippled. A few board members leaned forward, faces tightening as Ivy’s unsteady steps played out in silence.
Deborah didn’t dramatize it. She didn’t need to.
“Subsequently,” she continued, “attempts were made to access financial records relating to retreats and client entertainment expenses. Specifically, Barcelona and multiple prior trips.”
Thirsten cleared his throat. “While disturbing, none of this constitutes proof of—”
Deborah cut him off with a look sharp enough to silence a room. “This morning I received these from an anonymous source.”
Credit card statements appeared on the screen. Charges coded as client entertainment. Unusually high. Poorly documented. Repeated across three years.