Page 109 of The Secretary Volume II

And if they trace it?Let them.

Stewy can explain why an anonymous tip about internal trial deaths went out from his IP address at 11:12 AM.on a Tuesday.

63

Helper 99

He reeks.That’s the first thing.Not like death—he’s not lucky enough for that.It’s the scent no one budgets for in crisis comms—something between body failure and brand collapse.Sweat, blood, and something richer.Something slow-cooked.Like ego left out in the sun.

He’s curled in the corner like he’s hiding from the air.One eye is swollen shut.The other opens just enough to register presence.Not identity.Presence.That’s fine.He doesn’t need the details right now.

I wait a beat.Not for effect.For clarity.Because the performance still matters.Mine, not his.He’s forfeited the right to optics.

I don’t step in right away.I let it breathe.Let him see that someone came.Let him guess who.Then I call it in the way I always do when I’m the one cleaning up the mess.No context.No rank.Just, “He’s down.You need to move.”

And then I hang up, because if they don’t know what that means by now, we’ve got bigger problems.

Thankfully, someone on the other end makes it happen.They always do.Efficiency is the one drug that never lets me down.

I crouch once I know they’re on their way.Not to assess.He’s breathing.That’s enough.I just want to get a closer look at him.He’s bloated, red around the jaw, leaking in ways that suggest poor planning.There’s blood all over, dried in places that tell the real story.The scalpel’s gone.Tray smeared.Gauze used like he was trying to follow instructions he didn’t believe in.

That’s the part that sticks.Not that she did this to him.That he did it himself.That he thought he was untouchable.And that he’s learning—sloppily—that he isn’t.

I adjust his chin lightly with just enough pressure to make sure we’re having this moment.And we are.“There you are,” I say, and it comes out warmer than I mean it to.But I’m tired.And my patience, like the modafinil I definitely wasn’t prescribed, is wearing off.

He makes a sound.Not language.Not even intent.Just…wet and low, like something unfinished.

The handlers arrive two minutes later, give or take.They stop when they see him.Not out of concern—God, no.Just a hiccup in processing.Like they weren’t briefed on this level of carnage before their shift.

I don’t explain.I don’t even look at them.I just say, “Get him out of here,” like they’ve delivered the wrong drink order.

They each take an arm and lift him with that particular brand of care reserved for liabilities in expensive clothing.Careful with the eye, though I’d wager the only thing worth saving at this point is plausible deniability.

One of his feet drags.The stench, however, remains.There’s something useful in this kind of humiliation.A teachable moment.Not for him—for me.

This room needs to be burned to the ground.But that’s someone else’s job.

I follow them out.There’s no sign of Gillian.Of course not.She doesn’t leave warnings.She leaves statements.

The car is waiting.They load him in the back.I take the front, where I belong.He mumbles the whole ride—strings of numbers, code fragments, names he thinks still matter.Sometimes mine.Or maybe something that rhymes with it.Just enough to make me wonder whether he’s apologizing or accusing me in Morse.

We enter the research facility through the back.No questions.No scans.Just one long hiss and the kind of silence you can expense.

They take him upstairs.

I stay behind.

I’m not here to hold his hand.I’m here for damage control; someone has to draft the next version of events, and he’s in no shape to do it.

I sit in the waiting area, like someone who believes in happy endings.I open his phone.No hesitation.No passcode change.He’s never been good at locking things that count.

The alerts hit like a heartbeat.

One.Five.Twenty.Then the whole board lights up—Legal.PR.Crisis Control.External comms.A freelancer with a name I recognize, which is either karma or coincidence depending on what you believe in.

I open the top alert.

CONFIDENTIAL TRIAL MORTALITY FILES LEAKED TO PRESS – PUBLICATION LIVE

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