Neither of them moved.
Victoria's hand rested in Nathaniel's. The basement was silent except for the hum of the laptop and the distant sound of traffic on the street above. The bare bulb had been turned off hours ago. The only light came from the screen, casting pale shadows on the walls.
"We can't stay here forever," Nathaniel said quietly.
"I know."
"The meeting tomorrow. Olivia Park. If she talks—"
"When she talks."
He looked at her. "You're confident."
"I'm not confident. I'm desperate. There's a difference."
Nathaniel's thumb moved across her knuckles. It was a small gesture, almost unconscious. Victoria didn't pull away.
"I've been thinking about something," she said.
"What?"
"The night in the library. When you walked past me. When you pretended not to see me."
Nathaniel's hand stilled. "Victoria—"
"Let me finish." She took a breath. "I've spent ten years being angry at you. Ten years telling myself that you were a coward. That you were cold. That you didn't care."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know what to think." She looked down at their hands. "You brought me coffee. Black, no sugar. You remembered. After ten years, you remembered how I take my coffee."
"I remember everything about that night."
"Even the part where you destroyed my life?"
Nathaniel flinched. It was slight, barely visible in the dim light, but Victoria saw it.
"Yes," he said. "Especially that part."
---
He didn't let go of her hand.
"I've played that night over in my head a thousand times," he said. "What if I'd stopped? What if I'd turned around? What if I'd said something—anything?"
"What if you had?"
"I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything." He shook his head slowly. "But I didn't. I kept walking. And I've hated myself for it every day since."
"Hating yourself doesn't fix what you did."
"I know."
"It doesn't bring back my father. It doesn't bring back the company. It doesn't give me back the ten years I lost."
"I know."
Victoria pulled her hand away. She stood up, walked to the window, and stared out at the dark alley.
"I'm not ready to forgive you," she said.
"I'm not asking you to."
"Then what are you asking?"
Nathaniel stood up. He walked to the window and stood beside her, close but not touching.
"I'm asking you to let me help you finish this. And when it's over, if you want me to disappear, I will. I'll give you everything—the files, the evidence, the confession. You can destroy me the way I destroyed you."
"That's not what I want."
"Then what do you want?"
Victoria turned to face him. The laptop screen cast half his face in light, half in shadow.
"I want to know why you really came back," she said. "Why did you hire me? Not because I'm the best. Not because you needed someone you could trust. The real reason."
Nathaniel held her gaze. For a long moment, he didn't speak.
Then he said, "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Victoria's breath caught.
"Ten years," he continued. "Every deal I made, every company I acquired, every night I lay awake in a hotel room in some city I didn't care about—I thought about you. I thought about what you said in that library. 'You're not as cold as you pretend.'"
"Maybe you are."
"Maybe. But you were the only person who ever looked past the surface. Who saw something else. And when my company started falling apart, when I realized someone was trying to destroy me, the first person I thought of was you."
"You could have called. You could have apologized. You didn't."
"Because I was a coward." He stepped closer. "I'm still a coward. But I'm trying not to be."
Victoria looked up at him. He was close enough that she could see the lines around his eyes, the gray in his hair, the small scar on his chin that she'd never noticed before.
"Nathaniel—"
"I'm not going to kiss you," he said. "Not here. Not now. Not until this is over. Because if I kiss you now, I won't be able to think straight. And we need to think straight."
Victoria almost laughed. "You've been thinking about kissing me?"
"I've been thinking about a lot of things."
The laptop screen flickered. The battery was dying.
Victoria stepped back. She walked to the table, found the charger, and plugged it in. The screen stabilized.
"We should get some sleep," she said. "Tomorrow is going to be long."
"Victoria."
She turned.
"Thank you," he said. "For not walking away."
She didn't answer. She lay down on her bed, facing the wall, and closed her eyes.
Behind her, she heard Nathaniel lie down on his own bed.
The basement fell silent.
---
Victoria dreamed of her father.
He was sitting on the porch of the house on Maple Street, drinking lemonade, watching the sunset. He looked the way he had before the bankruptcy—healthy, strong, at peace.
"You're doing good, Vicki," he said.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"You're doing what's right. That's all any of us can do."
"I miss you."
"I know." He set down his glass. "But you don't need me anymore. You never did."
"Dad—"
"Wake up, Vicki. Someone's coming."
Victoria's eyes snapped open.
---
The basement was dark. The laptop screen had gone to sleep.
But she heard it. Footsteps. On the stairs.
Not Margaret's light, unhurried step. Heavier. Slower. Deliberate.
She reached out and touched Nathaniel's arm. He was already awake, already sitting up, his eyes fixed on the door.
"Someone's here," she whispered.
"I know."
The footsteps stopped at the basement door.
Three knocks.
Not Margaret's code. Not Diana's.
Nathaniel moved silently to the door. Victoria grabbed the pepper spray from her bag. The laptop—she couldn't carry it. She unplugged the external drive and slipped it into her pocket.
Three more knocks.
"Victoria. It's Diana. Open up."
Diana's voice. But something was wrong. The timing. The knocks. The way she said Victoria's name.
Nathaniel shook his head. Don't open it.
Victoria backed away from the door.
"Victoria, please. I'm alone. Let me in."
The door handle turned.
It was locked.
Then the handle turned again. And again. Someone was trying to pick the lock.
Nathaniel grabbed Victoria's hand. He pulled her toward the back of the basement, where a small window looked out onto the alley.
"We can't fit," she whispered.
"You can. I'll follow."
"I'm not leaving you."
"You're not. We're leaving together."
The lock clicked.
The door opened.