Chapter 2The Rooftop Agreement

The rooftop bar was the kind of place Calla would have never set foot in six months ago—too trendy, too exposed, too many people who might recognize her. Now she sat in the corner booth with her back to the wall, watching the elevator doors for Adrian Stirling.

He arrived at 11:47, three minutes early. The man was incapable of being late, even for a clandestine meeting with his former lover turned reluctant ally.

He slid into the booth without greeting, placing a manila folder on the table between them. “The whistleblower’s name was Derek Tran. He worked in my father’s division for twelve years.”

Calla didn’t touch the folder. “I know his name. I want to know who killed him.”

“The police ruled it a mugging gone wrong.”

“And you believe that?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “I believe my father’s assistant made three calls to a private security firm the night Derek died. The same firm that handles my father’s ‘sensitive’ matters.”

The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Calla had known Martin Stirling was ruthless—she’d watched him crush smaller companies during her years at Vance—but murder was a different category entirely.

“You’re asking me to trust you,” she said slowly. “After everything.”

“I’m not asking for trust. I’m asking for a partnership of convenience. We both want the same thing.”

“Do we? You want to protect your sister. I want to burn down the system that made her a bargaining chip.”

Adrian’s eyes flickered—something between pain and anger—but he controlled it quickly. “They’re not mutually exclusive. Derek was killed because he found something. Something my father and your father didn’t want exposed.”

Calla’s fingers went cold. “My father had nothing to do with—”

“I’m not accusing him. I’m stating a fact. Derek worked on a project that touched both companies. The records are buried, but they exist.”

She picked up the folder. Inside were printouts of financial transactions, employee emails, and a single photograph of Derek Tran—a man in his forties with tired eyes and a smile that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

“I’ll take the digital trail,” she said. “You get the physical records from your father’s office.”

“My father’s office is monitored twenty-four-seven. Motion sensors, cameras, biometric locks.”

“Then find a way. You’re the one who wanted my help.”

Adrian studied her for a long moment. “There’s a safe in his study at the family home. I can access it during the weekly dinner my mother insists on. But I’ll need a distraction.”

“I’m not your alibi.”

“I’m not asking you to be. I’m asking you to keep my father occupied on the phone while I’m inside the study.”

Calla considered the request. It was risky. If Martin Stirling suspected his son was digging, the consequences would be severe.

“Fine. But you owe me the full picture. No more half-truths about your sister, your father, or anything else.”

Adrian nodded once. “Agreed.”

They left separately, as planned. Calla took the stairs to avoid the elevator lobby, her mind already racing through the data she’d need to analyze. Derek Tran had been a mid-level accountant with access to financial records spanning fifteen years. If he’d found something worth killing for, it would be buried deep.

---

Leo’s apartment smelled like takeout and desperation. Empty containers littered the coffee table, and his laptop glowed with three different browser windows open simultaneously.

“You look like hell,” Calla said, stepping over a pile of laundry.

“Thanks. I’ve been digging into your family’s financial history.” Leo didn’t look up from the screen. “Your father has been moving money around for years. Small amounts, structured to avoid reporting thresholds. It’s textbook embezzlement.”

Calla’s chest tightened. “How much?”

“Enough to make a dent. Maybe two million over the past five years. But here’s the interesting part—the recipient accounts all trace back to a shell company registered in the Caymans. And that shell company?” Leo finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. “It was used to funnel money to Derek Tran.”

The room tilted. Calla gripped the back of the couch to steady herself.

“That’s impossible. My father and Derek didn’t even know each other.”

“They didn’t need to. The money went through three intermediaries before reaching Derek. But the trail is there.” He pulled up a spreadsheet, highlighting a series of transactions. “Someone wanted Derek paid. And if your father was embezzling, the payments could have been hush money.”

“Or a setup.”

“Or both.” Leo closed the laptop. “I told you the truth might be worse than you expected. Do you still want to pursue this?”

Calla thought of her father—the man who’d taught her to code, who’d taken her to her first tech conference, who’d smiled when she graduated at the top of her class. She thought of the way he’d looked at her after the takeover, disappointment etched into every line of his face.

“I need to see the files. All of them.”

Leo hesitated. Then he pulled a USB drive from his pocket. “I decrypted what I could. But there’s a layer of encryption I couldn’t crack without the original device. The whistleblower’s laptop is still in police custody.”

“I know someone who can get access.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Stirling?”

“He’s the one with the connections.”

“Calla, be careful. He’s not your partner. He’s a man who will choose his sister over you every time.”

“I know exactly what he is.” She took the USB drive. “That’s why I’m keeping copies of everything.”

---

Adrian’s office was dark when she arrived, the city lights casting long shadows across his desk. He was already there, waiting, a second laptop open beside his own.

“The physical records?” she asked.

“My father keeps everything in a fireproof safe. I’ll need your distraction tomorrow night.” He gestured to the laptop. “I managed to get a partial dump from Derek’s cloud backup before it was wiped. It’s encrypted, but I think we can brute-force it with the right tool.”

Calla plugged in Leo’s USB drive. “I have something better.”

The decryption tool ran in silence for three minutes that felt like hours. Adrian paced by the window, his reflection ghosting over the glass. Calla watched the progress bar, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The file opened.

A ledger. Hundreds of entries spanning eight years. Payments to accounts Calla recognized—vendors, consultants, law firms. And at the bottom of each page, a signature line.

Her father’s signature.

She scrolled through the entries, her stomach dropping with each one. The amounts grew larger as the years went on. The recipients grew more obscure. And the notes column grew sparser, as if someone had been trying to hide the trail.

“He was bleeding the company dry,” she whispered. “For years.”

Adrian leaned over her shoulder, his presence a heat she didn’t want to acknowledge. “The whistleblower must have found this. That’s why he was killed.”

“But why would my father—?” She stopped, the answer forming in her mind like poison. “He didn’t kill Derek. He couldn’t have.”

“No. But he created the motive for someone else to do it.” Adrian’s voice was flat, clinical. “Your father was the source. My father was the executioner. They were working together.”

The footsteps came from the hallway—quick, purposeful, heading toward the office door.

Adrian moved without hesitation. He grabbed the laptop, unplugged the USB drive, and shoved both into his briefcase. “Out. Now.”

They slipped through a side door into the service corridor, the sound of the office door opening behind them. Calla didn’t look back. She followed Adrian through a maze of hallways and stairwells until they emerged into the parking garage, gasping for air.

He handed her the briefcase. “Keep it safe. We’ll need the full picture before we make any moves.”

She took it, her hands shaking. “My father—”

“Is part of this. I’m sorry.”

The apology was unexpected. She looked at him, searching for the lie, the manipulation, the angle. But she found only exhaustion and something that might have been sympathy.

Her phone buzzed.

A text from Mira: *Dad collapsed. It's your fault.*

The words blurred. Calla stared at the screen, the weight of the evening crashing down on her.

“What is it?” Adrian asked.

“My father.” She looked up, her voice hollow. “He’s in the hospital.”

Adrian’s expression shifted—calculation, concern, calculation again. “If you go there, you’re walking into their territory. Your sister, the staff, anyone could be watching.”

“He’s my father.”

“And he might be the reason Derek Tran is dead.”

The truth of it burned. But so did the guilt.

“I’m going.”

Adrian was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I’ll drive you.”

It wasn’t trust. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was a decision made in the space between two betrayals, and Calla knew she’d spend the rest of the night wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

She got in the car anyway.