Page 100 of The Words We Lost

We’re behind the closed door of my office for all of two seconds before Joel reminds me to breathe. I assure him I am, in fact, still breathing, but he stops me before I can collect the package on my desk.

“Look at me.” He touches my chin gently. “You’re on the right side here. No matter who does or doesn’t show up today, you showed up. That’s what matters.”

I will the tremor in my hands to still. “I just hope it’s enough evidence to seal her fate without putting the target on anyone else I love.” The faces of both Wendy and Chip surface in my periphery. Neither of them deserves to be the collateral damage in SaBrina’s schemes.

“And that is exactly why we’re here.” He cradles the back of my neck with his hand and pulls me in to press a kiss to my forehead.

Like in so many meetings in this conference room over the last year, my gaze travels to the clock above the door. And like so manytimes before, SaBrina steps in one minute ahead of schedule. Unfortunately, our White Horse is still MIA.

“Ingrid,” SaBrina coos as if she’s greeting a long-lost friend and not a subordinate she was willing to stab in the back to rise to the top. “It’s good to have you back in the office. And of course it’s lovely to see you again, Mr. Campbell.” She shakes his hand. “So glad you could join us for this very exciting day. Let me be the first to say on behalf of Fog Harbor Books that we’re delighted to finally be making this happen. I’m sure the entire Campbell family is just as eager for the completion of Cecelia’s series as we are.” When SaBrina eyes Joel demurely, it’s clear she assumes I’ve told him nothing of her intimidation tactics.

“I, for one, am definitely looking forward to some closure,” Joel replies smoothly.

Joel is the picture of professionalism when he addresses her, though I see the tension that flares in his jaw as he settles in beside me at the table once again. There’s no doubt he can see through her façade, but I tap his knee under the table in a silent reminder of our delegated roles inside this space. He’s promised to let me take the lead, and I’ve promised not to back down. Two promises we talked through at length prior to this moment. Two promises that will require a healthy dose of patience and restraint for us both.

SaBrina eyes the package in front of me hungrily, but when I place a protective hand over the contents, she blinks and returns her attention to me.

“I’ve had our legal team reissue copies of Cecelia’s original contract for the Nocturnal Heart series to include the updated information since her passing. My goal is for everyone to walk away from here today confident of the future.” She opens a manila folder on the glossy tabletop and slides the contract in our direction. Joel flips through the first several pages regarding future royalty payments being issued to the trust. “As you can see, Mr. Campbell, the trust will receive the final installment of Cecelia’s advance thirty days after today’s submission.” She glances again at the goods I’ve promised her. “Which would mean thirty days from today.” She folds her hands on top of the table like a helpful grade-school teacher at a parent conference, only her blood-red fingernails don’t quite fit the part. She stretches them out for the package. “If there are no questions, then I’ll simply validate the full manuscript you’ve brought with you so we can get going on—”

“I do have some questions,” I say, keeping my hand firmly in place as my gaze ticks to the clock above her head once again, hoping to buy us a bit more time. “On one of our recent phone calls, you mentioned the backlash Cecelia’s last novel received from fans, along with the many conspiracies adopted by groups online. How do you plan on protecting Cecelia’s reputation and addressing those concerns through the marketing of this new release?”

SaBrina doesn’t so much as flinch at the mention of that phone call. “Rest assured,The Fate of Kingswill have the full power of both marketing teams behind it—the San Francisco and the New York divisions.” Her smile is as smug as her tone. “If we all play our cards right, I believe with the completion of this series, and the anticipation surrounding this last book, we could potentially break records held since Harry Potter fans camped out in bookstore parking lots in the late ’90s. The unrest we’ve seen in Cecelia’s fanbase as of late stems from a lack of closure to the characters they fell in love with over the course of four novels. Just imagine how they’ll react when we hand them the very thing they want most:redemption.” Her fevered gaze turns my stomach. “Not only will this final installment of the Nocturnal Heart series fulfill the film option agreement Cecelia signed, but each of us will play a part in this unforgettable milestone in publishing history. Can you imagine receiving the ending to a story you believed buried with its author?”

Yes, actually, I can imagine that. Just like I can imagine the kind of notoriety and advanced career track SaBrina will be on when she becomes the editorial director overseeing such an exceptional moment in publishing history. It was exactly as Chip had alluded weeks ago: People are willing to do crazy things in the name of power.

“Is there anything else I can answer for either of you?” she prompts, shifting her focus to Joel, whose gaze drills into the undisclosed package resting beneath my hand. I receive his message loud and clear. He’s done being patient, and so am I.

“No,” I say. “Thanks for clearing that up for us.”

“Of course.” Her smile suggests we’re all on the same team, all after the same goal. But at the moment, I can’t think of anything more repulsive. I slide the package forward and relinquish it to SaBrina.

White Horse or not, this is what we came here to do. And this is the hill my career in editorial will die on if it’s not done exactly right.

Since the origin of our plan, I’ve imagined this moment multiple times. Imagined SaBrina’s pointed fingernail flicking the gold brad at the back of the envelope and pulling out the stack of printed pages inside. But I couldn’t get a read on her facial expressions. I’ve seen SaBrina annoyed. I’ve seen her indifferent. But I’ve yet to see her incredulous, until now.

When her gaze falls to the first printed page, it’s like watching someone read their own eulogy.

She slips it to the back of the stack as if it’s a mistake she can hide. However, she’ll only find a hundred more just like it. Black-and-white evidence of the multiple fake online accounts she’s hidden behind to manipulate, coerce, and fuel rumors and misinformation to Cece’s fans for purposes I’ve yet to understand. The most predominant fake account being one Ms. TaBitha Garwood, a.k.a SaBrina Hartley.

“What is...?” She riffles through it, as if the faster she can scan the pages, the faster she can make the evidence disappear. But that’s the thing about a digital footprint, itneverdisappears. Her efforts to rise to the top have left behind a trail of scars.

Allie had been right about the difficulty in tracing destructive online behavior back to its originator, but thankfully, that part wasn’t left up to us. Given that Trevin—Chip’s favorite gamer pal and the head of Fog Harbor’s IT department—was still reeling from the recent firing of his girlfriend by SaBrina’s hand, he wasextra willing to pull the web logs from her computer and send them to us. The task of sifting through her browser history and online activity had been tedious, but our findings had been disturbingly lucrative.

Allie had not only confirmed SaBrina’s fake accounts inside multiple fan fiction groups, but she’d also confirmed that one of those fake alias accounts had started the #FindWendy hashtag that had become so popular last spring. Allie copied each and every post into an ever-expanding evidence file Chip had formatted and sent to the board of directors yesterday. In only a few days, the four of us had become savvy online detectives.

“That”—I dip my head to the pages in her hand—“is the reason we won’t be submitting Cecelia’s manuscript directly to you today. It’s evidence of your handiwork pulled directly from your hard drive over the past nine months. Turns out, your threats to me regarding the conspiracies surrounding Cece’s death and her family’s well-being were not the first of their kind. Seems you’ve made a practice out of it. But it’s like you told me once,secrets like this only keep for so long.”

Her expression blanches and then resumes. “You can’t prove intent with any of this.”

“No, we can’t, but we made sure to send the file in your hands to the board of directors, as well. We think it makes for a very compelling read.”

“It certainly does.” Barry, who is leaning against the doorway as if he’s been there undetected for some time, pushes into the conference room. “Which is why I cut my vacation short to be here today.”

Our fashionably late White Horse has finally arrived.

Barry winks at me. “Heya, kiddo.” He dips his head to Joel. “Mr. Campbell. Please excuse my tardiness. Baja might be a quick flight, but traffic from the airport is always a beast.” His loud, tropical-print button-up is a welcome sight, as is the familiar seat he takes at the end of the conference table. He steadies his gaze on SaBrina. “As the editorial director of this division for the last twenty-five years,I’ve seen my fair share of reprehensible behavior, but I’ve yet to stumble across something as blatant and damaging as this.” His gaze sharpens along with his voice. “Our zero-tolerance policy for bullying and intimidation in the workplace extends to the use of work equipment and property.”

“This was never about intimidation.” SaBrina shakes her head as if this is all a misunderstanding she can backpedal her way out of, even though there are a hundred social media posts of evidence pointing to the contrary. “This is about strategic marketing.”

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