“Mr. Wilder?” Emily stands at the doorway to my office, her hand poised to knock gently in case I’m buried in some work.

In fact, I am not buried in work. I’m staring out the window, taking in the Manhattan cityscape on a brilliant June day—and I’m thinking of Vivienne Davis.

I haven’t seen her in over three weeks, not since she swept in on that storm and wormed her way into my mind, but more and more of my days have been devoted to imagining what she’s doing. What she’s wearing. How she’s spending her evenings.

Now I’m caught by my own secretary, daydreaming about her.

I clear my throat and straighten my back, keeping my tone light, keeping my voice even, like the thought of bending Vivienne Wilder over my desk hasn’t preoccupied me for the last ten minutes. “Yes, Emily?”

“There’s a Chris O’Connor on the line for you.”

That name makes me perk up. “Chris O’Connor?”

“He said he was an old friend.”

“He’s not lying about that.” I keep my face impassive, and so does Emily, but there’s a tension in the air that I can’t hide. So I decide to crush it beneath my heel and move on to the next moment. “Put him through.”

“Of course.”

It takes her a few moments to get back to her desk, and I stare at the handset in front of me. Chris O’Connor went to Yale with me, and now he’s with the FBI. He’s been with the FBI for seven years, long enough to—

The phone beeps with the incoming call. I pick it up.

“Mr. Wilder, I have Mr. O’Connor on the line.” Emily’s voice is smooth, even.

“Thank you, Emily. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from you, Chris.”

Chris waits a few beats for Emily to click off the call, and then his voice rumbles across the line. “Hey, Dominic.” His tone is reserved, cautious, nothing like the college student who used to whoop and posture every time he scored in a game of one-on-one.

“You have some news for me?” I don’t know what the hell this could be about—nothing in my personal life this time—but Chris isn’t the type to call and chat. He’s too busy now, and so am I. We lived together for two years as college roommates. We don’t have to check in often.

“Listen—” He hesitates, and my throat goes tight. This is weird. If Chris ever does call, it’s to invite me out for a drink, and that happens on the order of once every couple of years when he’s getting nostalgic about something.

“Spit it out, man.”

He lets out a sigh. “Look, I shouldn’t be calling.” Then why are you calling? I want to ask the question, but I wait. “Are you free for a quick lunch? Or a drink?”

Something tells me this isn’t about Yale, or catching up.

“Sure. I can meet you in fifteen minutes. Where at?”

He names a bar a few blocks down from the Wilder Building. I hang up and feel a pit in my stomach.

Chris sits across from me at a back booth, hands wrapped around a cold mug of beer. He twists and turns his head, scanning the room, and then looks back at me. “So…how are things?”

I sip my own beer and narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t call me down here to ask me how things are, and we both know it.”

His blonde hair is darkening with age, but it gives him a certain sophistication that he definitely didn’t have in college. He takes another sip of his beer, then leans back and looks me in the eye. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I couldn’t—” He shakes his head, looking pained.

I raise both hands into the air. “Don’t tell me anything that’s going to get you in trouble.”

“Yeah, but—” He lets out a breath. “Okay. Listen. The department is investigating Wilder Enterprises.”

I can’t help but laugh. “For what? And why haven’t I been notified?”

Chris drops his voice. “Economic espionage.”

I glare at him. “Are you screwing with me?” It would be out of character for him, but this seems ridiculous. Who would be stealing from me? I have a vetting process in place at every level of the company, and I keep a tight grip on what goes in and out.

He doesn't look at all like he’s joking. “No. Look—somebody is stealing your tech secrets and passing them off to a group in China. We’re not sure if they’re connected to the Chinese government, but—” He presses his lips into a thin line. “The investigation is undercover at this point because the team had…some suspicions.”

It takes me half a heartbeat to understand what he’s saying, and when I do, anger surges up into my throat. I answer him through gritted teeth. “If you’re suggesting that I’m conspiring to benefit foreign governments, then—”

Now it’s Chris’s turn to throw up his hands. “I’m not. I’ve vouched for you. But this has been going on for a good three weeks, and I couldn’t keep you in the dark about it.”

I pull out my wallet, throw a bill that’s far too large onto the table, and stand up. “I’ll be in contact with someone at the Department. You can bet on it.”

“No. Dominic—”

“What do you expect me to do, Chris? Sit here and take it?”

“Give us a few more weeks,” he pleads, his eyes wide. For an instant, I see him as he was at twenty years old, almost a decade ago now, the gangly kid on campus who everybody loved. “Sit tight, Dom. I swear to you, we’ve got someone good on it.”

They’ve gotten someone into the company under my nose, and Chris isn’t about to blow his cover. My gut churns. I don’t need this to go public about as much as Chris doesn’t need to lose his job over leaking a confidence to an old friend. Still, my skin feels clammy. Someone inside Wilder Enterprises is screwing me over. I rule with an iron fist, and someone…someone…is wriggling through, passing off valuable information to a contact in China.

Jesus Christ.

Chris lowers his voice, trying to keep his cool. “A few more weeks. Let the team have a little more time, and we’ll figure it out. We’ll have it shut down.” He swallows hard. “I know it isn’t you, man. I know that, and I have your back.”

He’s trying to do me a favor, and my old friend is risking his job to do it. The least I can do is give him what he asks.

“Fine.” Chris’s face relaxes. “But if this shit isn’t resolved as soon as possible—and I mean as soon as possible—there will be hell to pay.”

“I know.” Chris reaches for his beer, nods across the table to me. “At least finish your drink, man. Don’t raze the city to the ground yet.”