The shutting of my door caught my attention, but the throwing of the lock had me nervous. I didn’t recognize the man standing in front of me, so I stood to my feet and buttoned my suit coat. My eyes hardened on him as he turned around, and then a folder was thrust out from his hand.

“Quick introduction,” he said. “I’m Ryan Lockhart. Take the folder.”

“Nice to finally meet you. What’s this?” I asked as I sat on the edge of my desk.

“It’s something we need to talk about. I did as you asked and I started by asking Mr. Lochter some questions. And he got very upset when I asked him about his time at Instatech.”

“Any reason?” I asked as I looked at the folder.

It had official paperwork from Instatech’s Human Resources. Things I’d already seen before. But then there was something I hadn’t seen.

“Why do I have payroll information?” I asked.

“Mr. Lochter claimed he was wrongly treated by Mr. Edwards and yourself.”

“Me?” I asked.

“That’s what he said. He told me he got several complaints from women about a janitor or someone harassing them and they were filing suits. According to Mr. Lochter, he informed Mr. Edwards that he was going to open up a case to look into it and Mr. Edwards told him not to.”

“What?” I asked.

“Again, that’s what he said. There’s no way to back up that claim. Mr. Lochter then informed me that when Mr. Edwards-”

“Just call him ‘Roman’. It’ll make this easier,” I said with a sigh.

“Of course. He said that when Roman told him not to, he got defensive. Stood up to his boss. Mr. Lochter told Roman it was procedure, and by that weekend he was fired. Look at the second to last page of the file.”

I flipped to it and looked down before anger clouded my vision.

“It says here that I advised Roman to fire him.”

“I figured you would want to know that,” Ryan said.

“I didn’t advise him on firing anyone. When I went into any company-”

“I know, I’ve read your contract. And by many counts, Roman’s in breach of it. While you were at Instatech, you assumed control of the entire company. He wouldn't have needed your advisement to fire Mr. Lochter.”

“I would’ve fucking done it myself,” I said.

“Once I dug up that paperwork-- which didn’t take long. Mr. Lochter had a copy of it in his records. I didn’t even have to go to Instatech to find that particular piece of artwork. Anyway, that gave me enough footing to go to Roman himself.”

“I take it that didn’t go well.”

“Oh no. He got very nasty with me. You’re right in being concerned. So, hopefully the next part doesn’t get me into trouble.”

“Did you follow the rulebook?” I asked.

“To the letter. I hired a private investigator-- a woman I trust-- to start digging into Instatech.”

“Uh huh. Was this folder put together by the P.I.?”

“It was. I wanted to make sure there was nothing else to hide within the company. That leads me to answering your question about the payroll papers.”

“Just give it to me straight,” I said. “I’ll take a look at this file later.”

“Fair enough. The three women who filed harassment reports against the janitor were given substantial raises that year, but no promotions. But despite those raises, they all still quit.”

“Holy shit,” I said with a groan.

“Yeah. I told the P.I.-- once she brought that to my attention-- to look further back. Want to take a guess as to what she found.”

“A trend,” I said.

“Exactly. Multiple women spanning Instatech’s inception. All women who filed harassment lawsuits against low-level employees. All those same women given substantial raises despite not obtaining a promotion. And all eventually quit despite the hop in benefits that are practically unheard of for their positions.”

“What positions did they hold in the company?” I asked.

“It varied. A few were part-time secretaries. One was a janitor herself. Working through college. A couple worked in the H.R. department. One was hired as a security guard for the front lobby.”

My hands were shaking as I picked up the folder again. I wasn’t going to wait to read it. I flipped it open and started scanning the pages. Reading the harassment filings. Going over the payroll sheets. Looking at the official fucking paperwork of their massive raises despite no promotions. And we weren’t talking five thousand dollars a year. One woman got a damn thirty thousand dollar raise. For being a part-time Public Relations consultant.

Someone framed Tiffany’s father.

I was sure of it.

I thrust the folder out and Ryan took it from me. I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to calm myself. But my blood was boiling and I could hardly see straight.

And Tiffany.

She was right outside the fucking office.

“Here’s what I want you to do,” I said. “I want the private investigator you hired to compile a list of every employee who’s been at Instatech since it’s inception. Look at everyone. The board of investors. Friends who donate from the outside. Even Roman himself. Then, get that man in here for a formal meeting. I want to speak with him. Someone is harassing these women and paying them well for their silence. There are only a few people in an entire company that can make those kinds of funds happen.”

“I’m sure it won’t take her long to compile the list, but I’ll make sure she’s thorough.”

“This isn’t a breach of contract case any longer, Mr. Lockhart.”

“Ryan is fine. And no, it’s not. This is serious. These women have been silenced. And chances are these harassment filings are false. I’ve seen things like this before in my line of work. They’re told a substantial chunk of money will come their way if they either keep silent or pin it on someone else. In this case, I think it’s both.”

“What does your gut say?” I asked.

“My gut? It says that the raises were triggered by the harassment complaints. The dates those filings were reported coincide very tightly with the dates of their raises. Then to keep the raise, they were probably told to keep silent about it. To go along with whatever happened.”

Fuck. This really wasn’t good.

Especially if my gut was correct.

“What does your gut say, Mr. Weber?”

I stood to my feet and looked out the window. Out at the unassuming world. None of those people had any idea what was going on in my office. What we were uncovering. What I was about to drop on my best friend’s head. Part of me kept telling myself it wasn’t true. That there was a piece of the puzzle I was missing.

And then, there was that nagging voice in the back of my head.

“My gut tells me that Tiffany Graves’ father deserves justice and that these women deserve a platform for their voices. Whoever’s doing this to them deserves to rot in the eyes of the media. That’s what my gut tells me, Ryan.”

“Then I’ll get our P.I. on the line and get working,” he said.

I stood with my back turned to him as he walked out the door. I didn’t want to chance looking out and seeing Tiffany sitting at her desk. If I did, I risked pulling her in and telling her what I’d found. I wanted to erase our history and try again. I wanted to show her that I was just as wrapped up in this web of lies as she was. But I couldn’t approach her. Not yet. Not until I had all the pieces in the right place.

Because when I told her that her father was innocent, I wanted to be able to give her definitive proof.

I looked over at the black television in my office and turned it on. I set the remote down and watched the screen come alive, and before I could bat my eyes the news was droning on. Tiffany’s father’s face was still plastered on the screen and pictures of them were still making headline news. Was nothing else happening in the fucking world? The news had morphed, of course. The focus was no longer on Mr. Graves’ death or our promiscuous sexual tryst. It was now on whether or not I was a murderer. Whether or not I had a hand in her father’s death.

And whether or not she enjoyed screwing around with the man that killed her damn father.

I almost turned the news back off until a live feed caught my eye. It had been days since I’d actually looked at the news, and it took me a second to understand what I was looking at. It was a lonely house on a cramped street and there were reporters everywhere on the side of the road. A rickety porch. A roof that needed to be patched. Windows with all the curtains drawn.

But the car.

I recognized that fucking car.

“Mr. Weber?”

“Put T.J. on the line,” I said.

“Right away, sir.”

I was placed on hold while I waited for my head of security to pick up.

“This is T.J.”

“I want you and three of your men to go to the address I’m about to text you,” I said as I sat down at my desk. “Miss Graves’ mother’s house is surrounded by attention-hungry reporters and it looks like they’re barricaded in. I’ll message you the address, but I want you there to dispel them.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take my best three men.”

“Good. Make sure one of them stays behind. I want you guys taking shifts at the front door until all of this dies down.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll write up a schedule. We’ll all take six-hour shifts.”

“Get the media out of there so they can live their lives,” I said. “And send one of your men up here to get Miss Graves from her desk. Tell her I'm sending her home early and make sure she gets there without any trouble.”

“I’ll come up myself and get her, sir.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up the phone and settled into my leather chair. My eyes locked onto the television screen as news anchors came on the scene to dissect every single minutia detail they possibly could to keep viewers entertained. I’d never been a fan of the press. I was never a news watcher. But now? I couldn't stand them. They weren’t reporting news. They were destroying lives for the sake of viewership. Stalking people’s homes for the sake of a quote for some pathetic excuse for an article.

It turned my stomach.

But no more.

This wasn't happening to Tiffany or her mother a second more.

Not if I could help it.

Fuck. Why didn’t I turn on the television sooner?