Chapter 6 - The Photograph on Adrian’s Phone
Adrian ignored Madison’s first six calls.
The seventh came while he sat alone in his apartment staring at the dark screen of his work laptop.
Reed Global security had remotely locked it.
He answered.
“What did you do?”
Silence.
Then Madison said, “What are you talking about?”
“My computer.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t.”
His voice cracked harder than he intended.
“Do not do that.”
Madison exhaled.
“Adrian, where are you?”
“Answer me.”
“I’m trying to.”
“Did you access Reed Global files while I was asleep?”
“No.”
The denial was immediate.
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Did you use my USB drive?”
“No.”
“Did you send anything to your father?”
Long silence.
“General information.”
Adrian laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“I’m suspended.”
“What?”
“Paid administrative leave. Security took my badge.”
Madison’s voice changed.
“Because Marcus is angry about us?”
Adrian stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“No. Do not make this about Marcus being your ex.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He walked toward the window.
“They have access logs. Someone used my password at two thirteen in the morning and downloaded the Foundry acquisition package.”
Madison said nothing.
“And the old legal memo about your father’s property claim.”
Still nothing.
Adrian gripped the phone.
“How did you even know that memo existed?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why was it opened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you on my computer?”
“No.”
He wanted to believe her.
That was the humiliating part.
Some wounded section of him still wanted her to say one sentence that made everything reasonable again.
“Madison.”
“I said no.”
Adrian looked toward his desk.
A framed photograph sat near the lamp.
Madison laughing on his balcony six weeks earlier.
He picked it up.
Something about the image bothered him.
Not the smile.
The angle.
The photograph had been taken using his phone’s timer.
Madison sat on the edge of his desk.
Behind her, his laptop screen was visible.
He opened the original image on his personal phone and zoomed in.
The background blurred.
But the screen showed a Reed Global map.
Foundry.
Another photograph from the same evening showed Madison holding a champagne glass near the desk.
Another.
Then another.
In the fourth picture, her gaze was not toward the camera.
She was looking sideways.
At the screen.
Adrian’s stomach turned.
“What?”
Madison asked.
He had forgotten she was still on the phone.
“I found the picture.”
“What picture?”
“The night you asked me why I kept working late.”
No answer.
“You remember.”
“Yes.”
“The Foundry map is behind you.”
“That proves I saw a map.”
“Did you photograph it separately?”
“No.”
Adrian swiped.
His phone automatically synchronized images shared between devices.
There were gaps in the numbering.
IMG_4821.
Then IMG_4827.
Six missing photographs.
“Did you delete pictures from my phone?”
Madison became defensive.
“What kind of question is that?”
“The kind somebody asks after six images disappear from the middle of a sequence.”
“I delete bad pictures sometimes.”
“From my phone?”
“You told me I could.”
“To delete selfies you didn’t like.”
“That’s probably what they were.”
Adrian pressed his thumb against his temple.
“When did you find out Marcus owned Reed Global?”
“Last night.”
“Truth.”
“I swear.”
“And your father?”
“What about him?”
“Did Victor know Marcus owned it?”
“Yes.”
Adrian laughed bitterly.
“So everybody knew except you.”
“I didn’t care who owned your company.”
“That is not true.”
Madison’s voice sharpened.
“Excuse me?”
“You care about status more than anybody I’ve ever met.”
“That’s rich coming from a man who bought a five-thousand-dollar watch after his promotion.”
The words landed.
Because they were true.
Adrian looked at the watch.
He remembered showing it to her.
Remembered how impressed she had seemed.
Marcus had worn an old blazer to his own gala.
Adrian had spent money to look powerful at someone else’s company.
The contrast made him sick.
“I’m coming over,” Madison said.
“No.”
“We need to talk in person.”
“No.”
“Adrian.”
“Did you know your father was buying parcels around Foundry?”
“I knew he was looking at real estate.”
“Did you tell him where?”
“I may have mentioned the area.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
The answer sounded almost innocent.
That was how every boundary had disappeared.
One harmless answer at a time.
“What did you tell him about Reed Global’s deadline?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I do. I told you before Thanksgiving.”
“You talk about work constantly.”
“Did you repeat it?”
“I don’t know.”
Adrian heard himself breathing.
Then Madison said quietly, “My father does not tell me everything.”
“You tell him enough.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Neither is losing my career because my girlfriend treated my access like family currency.”
Madison went silent.
The sentence had hurt her.
Adrian was surprised to realize he cared.
He hated that he cared.
“Adrian,” she finally said, “I didn’t know he was going to file against Marcus.”
“But you knew he wanted the information.”
“I thought he wanted an investment advantage.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
For the first time, she sounded frightened instead of defensive.
Adrian sat down.
“Did you take files from Marcus before?”
The question came from nowhere.
Madison stopped breathing for a second.
Adrian heard it.
“What did you say?”
“Marcus told me you dated when his company was small. Your father’s claim involves Marcus’s father. This feels older than me.”
Madison whispered, “Adrian.”
“What did you do?”
“I have to go.”
“No.”
The call disconnected.
Adrian stared at the screen.
He almost called back.
Instead he opened the cloud backup of his photographs.
Deleted images sometimes remained there for thirty days.
The six missing pictures appeared.
Four were failed timer shots.
One was blurry.
The sixth was different.
Madison had apparently triggered the camera accidentally while holding the phone.
The image pointed down toward Adrian’s desk.
Her left hand held his USB drive.
Her right hand rested beside the open Reed Global laptop.
On the screen was a confidential file directory.
Adrian enlarged the photograph.
The timestamp read 2:19 a.m.
September 27.
He sat motionless for nearly a minute.
Then he forwarded the photograph to Leah Grant.
His thumb hovered over the message field.
He wrote:
I found this. I think Madison lied to me.
He deleted the sentence.
Then wrote another.
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I found this. I need to tell the truth about everything.
And pressed send.
