A kindness, it had seemed at the time.

A husband stepping in while his wife was unwell.

That authority — narrow, temporary, meant only to keep the lights on in the buildings while I recovered — had been stretched, quietly and steadily, into something else entirely.

“We assumed at first that the assistant was just abusing her administrative access,” Naomi said, laying down a printout.

“That this was Sloane, freelancing.” She paused.

“It wasn’t only Sloane.”