The hospital's main administrative building hummed like any other weekday phones ringing, printers humming, secretaries chatting about nothing important. But under the calm, something rotten had begun to stir.
It started with a single email.
An anonymous tip sent to the local paper. Attached: copies of payment trails donation funds redirected to fake shell companies, hospital resources bled dry under the guise of "vendor contracts." It was enough to make any good reporter drool.
By noon, it was the lead story on every local news site. HOSPITAL DONATIONS STOLEN IS CHARITY CARE A FRAUD?
Reporters flooded the lobby. Patients asked questions. Board members started calling Richard Holloway's personal line every fifteen minutes.
And Richard? Richard Holloway paced behind his oversized desk, rage vibrating in every clipped breath.
Matt sat in the break room, phone in her pocket, pretending to sip stale coffee. Her hands shook. She'd watched the news break live on her phone, her pulse hammering so loud she thought the whole staff could hear it.
She should have felt guilty for betraying her father. But she didn't. Not really. Not when she pictured Emily's tiny coffin. Not when she pictured Kevin's broken face at the graveside.
She glanced at her phone at the single text Kevin had sent half an hour ago.
"Good work. Tonight my place."
Four words that made her chest squeeze with something warm and stupid. Maybe, once this was over, they really could have a fresh start. Maybe he could forgive her. Maybe they could both forgive themselves.
Kevin sat at a greasy diner across the street from the hospital, watching the chaos on a mounted TV. He stirred his coffee absently, the corners of his mouth twitching into something like a smile.
The first shot fired. The fortress cracked.
But as he watched the news cycle chew on Richard Holloway's name, his mind kept drifting back to last night the way Matt's hair spilled across his pillow, the way her lips brushed his shoulder while she slept.
He'd meant to use her. He was using her. But somewhere under the jagged edges of revenge, something softer pulsed something that disgusted him. Regret. A sliver of doubt.
He crushed it the moment it appeared.
That night, Matt slipped through Kevin's apartment door like she belonged there.
She was still in her scrubs, dark circles under her eyes, a cheap takeout bag clutched in her hand. She looked exhausted but when she saw him, her whole face softened.
"I brought dinner," she said, shy like a teenager. "You probably haven't eaten."
Kevin took the bag, tossed it on the counter. "Sit down," he murmured.
She did. He pulled her into his lap instead.
Matt's breath caught, a tiny, surprised laugh. But she didn't resist she melted into him, her hands on his shoulders, her lips finding his like they'd done this a thousand times before.
For a moment, Kevin let himself feel it. The warmth. The sweetness. The lie.
Then he pulled back, his hand tangled in her hair. He stared at her so open, so breakable.
"We need more, Matt," he said, voice low. "That was only the first leak. We need the sealed accounts. The offshore papers. The board minutes. Everything."
She hesitated. "Kevin that's locked up tight. It's my father's personal vault. I don't even know"
His fingers slid to her neck, his thumb brushing her pulse. "You're the only one who can do this. For Emily. For us."
The way her eyes lit up when he said us nearly made him choke on the poison in his own mouth.
She nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll get it."
He kissed her then deep, consuming silencing the tiny voice inside him that whispered he was becoming everything he hated.
When he pulled back, she was breathless, her trust laid bare at his feet.
Outside, the city moved on unaware that one man's promise to a dead sister was about to burn a dynasty to the ground.