The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 153

***Violet***

Camille hands me her phone without question.

“You call him,” she says quietly.

I nod once. Then press Kevin’s contact.

It rings twice before he answers.

“Camille?” he says immediately. “Please tell me you two are not anywhere near that building.”

“It’s Violet.”

There’s a short pause. “Oh,” he says. "You must be calling for a reason. What do you need?"

I glance out the windshield toward Rowan again before focusing. “I need everything you still have on Avery.”

Silence. Not confused silence. Careful silence. Kevin isn’t stupid.

“And by everything,” he says slowly, “what exactly are we talking about here?”

“Everything,” I repeat. “Her hiring paperwork. Access logs. Scheduling logs. Work phone records. Badge scans. Internal notes. Anything.”

Camille watches me closely now. Probably because my voice doesn’t sound like mine anymore. Too calm. Too sharp.

Kevin exhales softly on the other end. “You think she’s involved.”

“I think she’s connected.”

“That’s not the same thing?”

“No,” I agree quietly. “But it’s close enough for me to look into.”

Silence again. Then keyboard clicking. Fast. Efficient.

“Alright,” Kevin mutters. “Going back now…”

I lean back slightly against the seat while Camille watches me.

“She applied through standard executive placement channels. References looked clean. Prior admin work, scheduling experience, political internship…” He pauses. “Wait.”

Camille immediately looks over at me.

“What?” I ask.

Kevin clicks again. “She’s from Bellridge.”

My blood runs cold. Bellridge. The same city. The same fucking city where Calder murdered that first confidential informant.

Camille sits upright instantly beside me. “No way.”

My grip tightens slightly on the phone. It can’t be coincidence. Not anymore.

Not with Calder tied to Hargrove. Not with Avery attached to Hargrove’s hip every second of the day. Not with all of this connecting back to the same damn places over and over again.

“What else?” I ask quietly.

Kevin keeps typing. “She was weirdly active on her work phone the first couple months,” he says. “Then usage drops almost completely.”

“Why?”

“She got her own personal phone from the looks of it,” he replies. “One of those ridiculously expensive ones. After that she barely touched the company-issued device.”

I exchange a look with Camille. Interesting.

“Do you still have those logs?” I ask.

“Company phone records? Yeah.”

“I want all of them.”

Kevin hesitates slightly this time. “Violet…”

“I want every number she called. Every number that called her. Every timestamp.”

Camille slowly smiles beside me now. Not happy. Sharp. Dangerous. She was catching on to what I was going for.

Kevin exhales slowly. “You sound like Rowan.”

That should bother me. It doesn’t.

“Can you do it?” I ask.

More typing. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Camille suddenly leans closer. “What about her company email?”

Kevin pauses. “She still technically has it.”

I blink. “What?”

“Every employee keeps their email after separation unless legal specifically revokes it,” he explains. “Most companies do it for continuity.”

Camille and I look at each other instantly. A spark. An idea. Dangerous.

“Can you access it?” I ask carefully.

Kevin goes quiet. Long enough that I know he understands exactly what I’m asking.

“Hypothetically?” he says slowly.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“Her ninety-day termination window isn’t up yet,” he says quietly. “Which means technically I still have administrative override access.”

Camille actually sits forward now. My heart starts beating harder. Not fear. Adrenaline. Possibility.

“If you needed to reset the password?” I ask.

Kevin sighs softly. “It wouldn’t be hard.”

I glance at Camille. She nods immediately. No hesitation. No moral debate.

That should probably concern me.

Instead... It feels right.

“Do it,” I say quietly.

Kevin goes silent for half a second. Then “…Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

“Kevin.”

“I’m doing it,” he says quickly. “I’m just acknowledging this is absolutely insane.”

Camille snorts softly beside me. “Welcome to the club.”

Kevin keeps typing. “I’ll send everything encrypted,” he says. “Phone logs, schedules, badge access, HR records, email reset.”

“Thank you.”

“Violet,” he says carefully before ending the call, “whatever you’re looking for… be careful.”

The line disconnects.

Silence fills the SUV again.

“This is probably illegal,” she says.

“Very.”

“And if Rowan finds out?”

I stare out at him through the windshield. At the hard lines of his posture while officers practically trip over themselves talking to him.

“He’ll hate it,” I admit.

“Then why are we doing it?”

Because I’m tired. Because I’m angry. Because Hargrove smiled while trying to ruin my husband’s life. Because nobody stopped any of this from happening. Because following the rules didn’t protect us.

I look back at Camille. “Anything we find can’t go to the police,” I say quietly. “Not legally.”

She nods slowly. “But…”

My gaze drifts toward the livestream still open on her phone.

Toward Hargrove. Toward Avery standing beside her like she belongs there.

“We can still destroy them with it,” I finish softly.

Camille slowly leans back against the seat, staring at me like she’s seeing me differently now.

“You know,” she says carefully, “a couple weeks ago you were worried about making sure Rowan’s coffee order was correct.”

I glance at her.

“And now?” she continues. “You’re talking about launching a social assassination campaign against a councilwoman.”

I let out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Well… a couple weeks ago my mother and brother was still alive.”

That shuts the conversation down immediately.

Camille’s expression softens for half a second. Just a second.

Then it hardens again.

Because grief only stays soft for so long before it turns sharp.

“So,” she says slowly, “what exactly are we looking for?”

I stare out the windshield at Rowan again.

He’s still near the barricade speaking with officers, his posture rigid enough that even from here I can tell he’s furious. Theo stands beside him with his arms crossed while a fire marshal gestures toward the lower levels of the building.

“Patterns,” I say quietly.

Camille looks at me. “What kind of patterns?”

“The kind assistants notice.”

That gets her attention immediately.

I turn toward her fully now. “Think about it,” I continue. “Assistants know everything.”

She nods slowly.

“Schedules. Calls. Meetings. Affairs. Secrets. Last-minute changes. Deleted appointments.” I pause. “We clean up after powerful people for a living.”

“And powerful people are messy,” Camille mutters.

“Exactly.”