Page 173 of His Good Girl

Tom’s voice was steady now, almost crisp. He had apparently grown three inches of legal courage and a set of balls since breakfast. “On that drive, you will find a recording of your contractor, operating under the name Becca, threatening Jules Voss with distribution of private intimate materials if she refused to provide information about Ms. Hale. You will find a transcript of that call. You will find a timeline of contact attempts. You will find payment records connecting Meridian Strategic Risk, Rookline Advisory, Skylark Media, and parties with a financial interest in Lang Development acquiring Hartwell after Rowe’s mistakenly anticipated withdrawal. You will find drone flight data. You will find correspondence metadata. You will find security footage from this building. You will find copies of the litigation holds that have already been prepared.”

Vale’s face did not change much, but his body went very still.

Tom continued, and I had the strange, giddy thought that if we survived this, I was going to tell him he had been magnificent and watch him nearly faint from praise. “This is not a negotiation. It is an evidentiary preview. Your principals have a copy. Outside counsel has a copy. The city attorney will have one shortly. The inspector general will have one. Law enforcement will have one.”

Dana looked at Vale. “Let your bosses figure out what they want to do.”

Vale’s eyes narrowed. “This is an aggressive posture.”

“No,” Callum said. “This is the polite version of what I’d really like to do.”

I had not planned to speak.

Then Vale looked at me.

“You understand, Ms. Hale,” he said, voice smooth, “that public attention is rarely kind to young women in your position.”

Callum’s hand moved one inch on the table, flexing like he wanted to punch Vale in the face. I held up my hand in his direction, looked at Vale, and thought of Jules on my couch shaking so hard she could barely hold her phone. I thought of the photograph under my keyboard and of the drone outside the glass; of my body turned into leverage; and of Callum almost giving up the contract and jeopardizing his company because he could not bear to see me exposed. I thought of every man and woman who had ever mistaken fear for consent.

“I understand that you tried to make me afraid of a story you were writing without me,” I said.

Vale’s expression cooled.

My voice did not shake, which felt like a miracle and a gift from some future version of myself who had decided to come back and help. I met his eyes with a cold stare. “Here’s the problem: I’m in the room now.”

For three seconds, no one moved.

Then Vale said, “I would advise you to be careful.”

“People keep saying that,” I replied. “It’s starting to feel like projection.”

Callum’s gaze stayed on Vale. “You will not contact Ms. Hale again. You will not contact Ms. Voss again. You will not distribute, describe, imply, reference, summarize, hint at, or launder any illegally obtained private material through a third party, a journalist, a whisper campaign, a development newsletter, or whatever dead-eyed euphemism your firm invents after lunch. If one photograph leaks, if one rumor traces back to you, if one anonymous source so much as breathes in rhythm with Meridian, Rookline, or Lang, we will take apart every entity involved piece by piece, loudly.”

Vale’s jaw tightened. “You can’t prove Lang directed any of this.”

Tom smiled. It was unsettling. Tom should not have smiled like that. It made him look like a librarian who had found a body in the rare books room and was excited about cataloguing procedure.

“Discovery will be fun,” Tom quipped.

Vale finally reached for the USB. Slowly. Carefully. He slid it into the folder without looking at it.

“I will convey your position.”

“Do that,” Dana said.

Benjamin stepped to the door and opened it with a flourish so over the top it nearly had punctuation. “Ta-ta now. I expect to hear from you never again.”

Vale just looked at him.

Benjamin smiled wider. “Professionally, of course.”

Vale stood. His associate stood. For all his polish, the meeting had gotten to him. I could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the fractionally faster movement as he gathered his folder. He had walked in expecting fear but had found the exact opposite.

At the doorway, he turned back once. His gaze went to Callum and then to me. “This relationship will not play out the way you think.”

Callum stood then, a towering presence.

“It will play exactly how we decide it plays,” Callum answered.