Chapter 3 - The Secret in Paige Bennett’s Résumé
Graham did not sleep.
At 3:12 a.m., he was still staring at the photograph.
Paige was standing outside a courthouse three years earlier.
Beside her was William Bennett.
Former regional investment manager.
Former employee of Westbridge.
And the man Graham had personally fired after discovering millions in fraudulent transfers.
William Bennett had disappeared afterward.
No one knew where he went.
Paige had never mentioned him.
Graham knew he should fire her.
Instead, at 6:45 the next morning, he asked her to come into his office.
She walked in carrying coffee.
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
She placed his coffee down.
He didn't touch it.
“Your father worked for Westbridge.”
Paige went still.
“Yes.”
“You failed to mention that.”
“You didn't ask.”
“You think that's irrelevant?”
“No.”
“Why did you come here?”
“To work.”
His voice hardened.
“With me?”
“With Westbridge.”
“You knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
“You knew what I did to him.”
Paige's eyes flashed.
“I knew what you said you did.”
“He stole from my company.”
“He was accused.”
“He was convicted.”
“My father was sick.”
Graham stared.
“What?”
“He had early-onset dementia.”
Silence.
“He made financial mistakes. Then larger ones. He stopped understanding what he was signing.”
Graham leaned back.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because every company I interviewed with treated his name like a contagious disease.”
“That isn't my problem.”
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“But I didn't come here to defend him.”
“Then why?”
“Because Westbridge was the only place offering enough money to pay his medical debt.”
Graham looked down.
“Your mother?”
“Dead.”
“Your father?”
“Alive.”
“Where?”
“In a nursing facility outside Madison.”
Graham was silent.
“What happened to the money?”
“He lost everything.”
Graham stared at her.
Then he noticed her hands.
She had been gripping them tightly.
Not because she was lying.
Because she was afraid.
He turned the photograph toward her.
“Someone sent me this.”
Paige looked at it.
Her face went pale.
“I've never seen that picture.”
“That's impossible.”
“I don't remember anyone taking it.”
“Why were you there?”
“My father's sentencing.”
“Were you involved?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
She looked at him.
“Before he was sentenced, he said one thing.”
“What?”
“He told me that Westbridge wasn't as clean as I thought.”
Graham's expression changed.
“What exactly?”
“He said, ‘I stole money because somebody else was already stealing much more.’”
The room went silent.
Graham's instincts sharpened.
“Did you believe him?”
“Not at the time.”
“Now?”
“I don't know.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Because I needed this job.”
That answer hurt more than Graham expected.
He stood.
“I should fire you.”
Paige nodded.
“Yes.”
“I could end your employment right now.”
“Yes.”
“But I won't.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Why?”
“Because I don't think you're the leak.”
She looked relieved.
Then suspicious.
“You think someone else is.”
“I know someone else is.”
Graham slid the photograph toward her.
“Until I find out who, you stay close.”
“That's not exactly reassuring.”
“It wasn't intended to be.”
The days that followed became increasingly strange.
Paige found documents missing.
An appointment was changed without her input.
A private investor somehow knew about a meeting that had never appeared on the calendar.
Then one afternoon, Graham received a call.
His face changed.
He left the office without explanation.
Paige followed him.
She found him in the underground garage, speaking to a man she didn't recognize.
The man handed Graham a folder.
“This came from Bennett.”
Graham's head snapped up.
“Where?”
“Wisconsin.”
Paige stepped forward.
Graham saw her.
“Go upstairs.”
“No.”
“Paige.”
“My father sent something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“The fraud that destroyed him.”
The man gave Paige a careful look.
“He says you're in danger.”
Graham stepped closer.
“She is with me.”
The man nodded.
“Then both of you are.”
That night, Graham drove Paige home himself.
She lived in a small apartment above a bakery.
He looked at the building.
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“That isn't secure.”
“It's affordable.”
“Pack a bag.”
She laughed.
“You can't relocate your assistant every time someone makes a threat.”
“Watch me.”
“Graham.”
It was the first time she'd used his first name.
He went still.
“I'm not leaving with you.”
“You're coming to my house.”
“That sounds worse.”
“You'll be safer.”
She crossed her arms.
“Is this an order?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
His voice softened.
“A request.”
She stared at him.
Then she looked down.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
At his townhouse that night, Paige discovered something she had never expected.
Graham Mercer owned no photographs.
No family portraits.
No childhood pictures.
No framed awards.
Nothing personal.
His house looked like an expensive hotel nobody had checked into.
“You live like you’re waiting to leave.”
He looked at her.
“Maybe I am.”
She walked toward the fireplace.
There was one photograph.
A young Graham.
A young woman.
And a little girl.
Paige pointed.
“Your sister?”
“My wife.”
Paige turned.
He swallowed.
“She died six years ago.”
Paige's expression softened.
“I'm sorry.”
“She was pregnant.”
Silence.
“I'm sorry.”
Graham looked away.
“That was the last time I let anyone close enough to lose.”
Paige understood.
And suddenly the arrogant, impossible CEO looked less terrifying.
He looked wounded.
“Graham.”
He met her eyes.
“Yes?”
“You don't have to be alone just because you're afraid.”
Something broke in his expression.
He looked away.
“Get some sleep.”
“Goodnight.”
She turned.
Then heard him say:
“Paige.”
She looked back.
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
“You're welcome.”
Neither saw the shadow standing across the street.
A camera flashed.
Someone whispered into a phone.
“They're together.”
May you like
A man's voice answered.
“Then start phase two.”
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