The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 162

***Violet***

I take a breath before continuing.

“These documents are for one purpose.” My voice hardens. “To expose Councilwoman Hargrove and her assistant.”

Leah’s brows pull together immediately. “Assistant?”

“Yes.”

Now she looks genuinely confused.

I can practically see her trying to piece together why the hell Rowan Ashcroft’s wife just walked into her office carrying corruption files tied to a city councilwoman and her assistant. “You’re going to need to explain—”

“Just look at the photos.”

Silence.

Leah stares at me for another second longer before finally reaching for the flash drive slowly.

She plugs it into her computer. The loading screen pops up almost instantly.

Folders. Downloads. Metadata files. Email archives. Images.

Her eyes narrow immediately. “Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath.

Camille looks away slightly the second the photo folder opens. I don’t blame her.

Leah clicks the first image. Then freezes. “What the fuck?”

Theo. Avery. Hotel entrance. Timestamped.

Leah clicks another. Then another. Her expression changes rapidly with each photo she opens.

Confusion. Shock. Calculation.

Then suddenly... Recognition.

“Wait,” she whispers.

She opens another image. Devin. Another. Marcus. Then Calder. And suddenly the entire room goes silent.

The only sound is the quiet murmur of the television in the background while Leah stares at the screen like she physically cannot process what she’s looking at.

“What…” She looks up at me slowly. “What the hell is this?”

I feel exhausted suddenly. Bone deep exhausted. “It’s blackmail,” I say quietly.

Leah’s eyes snap back toward the computer screen instantly. I continue before she can interrupt.

“We found emails between Hargrove and Avery going back two years. Thousands of them.” My voice tightens. “Avery was feeding information from inside Ashcroft Industries.”

Leah slowly stands from her chair. “No.”

“Yes.”

“She was spying on Rowan?”

“On everyone.”

Leah starts opening files faster now. Email chains. Schedules. Attachments. Photos.

Her breathing grows slightly uneven the deeper she goes. Then suddenly Leah stops scrolling. Completely.

“Holy shit.” Her voice comes out barely above a whisper.

Camille immediately straightens slightly in her chair. “What?”

Leah slowly turns the monitor toward us.

The watermark beneath one of the photographs glows clearly against the bottom corner of the image.

Drew Pierce Photography. The second I see the name again, my stomach twists violently.

“You know him?” I ask sharply.

Leah looks up at me slowly and I can literally see the moment the pieces start connecting inside her head.

“Wait…” Her eyes flick between me and the screen again. Then back to me. “Pierce,” she says quietly.

My chest tightens immediately.

Leah stares at me harder now. “Drew Pierce,” she repeats slowly. “Your last name is Pierce.” Leah’s expression changes completely. “Oh my God.”

The room feels suffocatingly quiet.

“I covered his death,” Leah says softly.

My stomach drops. Of course she did. She’s a journalist. Of course she covered it.

Leah looks back toward the screen again before zooming in shakily on the metadata beneath the attached image.

Councilwoman Evelyn Hargrove authorization. Payment processing approved.

Her breathing visibly changes. Faster now. More uneven.

Because suddenly she’s not just looking at blackmail photos anymore. She’s looking at a dead photographer connected directly to Hargrove.

A murdered detective. A corruption scandal. An explosion. A billionaire under attack.

And now... Me. Someone sharing the same last name as the dead man who took the photos.

Leah slowly leans back in her chair. “Oh my God,” she whispers again.

I can literally see the entire story assembling itself behind her eyes now.

The surveillance. The manipulation. The blackmail. The corruption. The dead photographer. The dead detective. Everything suddenly threading together into one horrifying picture.

Camille sinks heavily into the second chair near the wall, rubbing both hands over her face tiredly. “I feel sick,” she mutters.

Honestly? Same.

Leah scrolls silently through more files for another long moment before suddenly stopping again.

This time her expression shifts into confusion. Then disbelief. She opens another folder.

Environmental redevelopment plans. Community housing concepts. Blueprints. Funding breakdowns. Proposed layouts.

Her brows pull together tightly while she scans the documents. “Wait,” she says slowly. “These are real?”

I blink. “What?”

“The environmental housing projects.” She turns the monitor toward me slightly. “These are legitimate?”

I stare at her for a second before nodding. “Yes.”

Leah looks genuinely stunned now. “There are entire project proposals in here.”

“There’s also a website.”

Both Leah and Camille look at me. I reach forward slightly, typing quickly into the browser before pulling up the public project page Rowan’s development team launched months ago.

Articles. Statements. Interviews. Community outreach proposals. Architectural renderings. Funding plans. Employment initiative outlines.

Leah stares at the screen silently.

“He’s been talking publicly about this for months,” I say quietly. “The tiny environmental housing structures. Job placement programs. Rehabilitation support. Trade apprenticeships.”

Camille leans slightly toward the monitor. “He wanted the September job fair tied into the housing rollout.”

Leah slowly scrolls through the page. “He was serious,” she whispers.

“Yes.”

The sadness in my chest suddenly aches harder. Because nobody sees this side of Rowan. Nobody. They see the billionaire. The CEO. The cold man in expensive suits. Not the person quietly trying to rebuild parts of the city everyone else abandoned.

Leah scrolls further through the proposal documents. Then suddenly frowns.

“Wait.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Why didn’t this move forward?”

I laugh softly under my breath. Not because it’s funny. Because I’m angry.

“Because Hargrove buried the permit.”

Leah’s eyes snap toward me immediately. “What?”

“She delayed zoning approvals.” My voice hardens slightly. “Environmental clearance reviews. Construction authorization.” I cross my arms tightly. “Every time Rowan got close, another issue magically appeared.”

Leah slowly looks back toward the screen. Then toward the corruption emails again. And suddenly I can see it click for her completely.

Hargrove wasn’t trying to protect the city. She was blocking the person trying to help it.

Leah leans back slowly in her chair, staring at the project plans still pulled up on her monitor while the television in the corner quietly drones on about political tensions and the explosion downtown.

Then she laughs once under her breath. Not humor. Disbelief.

“She buried this?” she asks quietly.

“Yes.”

Leah shakes her head slowly, almost like she’s angry at herself now too. “Jesus Christ.”

Camille watches her carefully from the chair near the wall while rubbing absently at her stomach again.

Leah suddenly straightens in her chair. And just like that... The journalist takes over.

I can physically see the shift happen. The exhaustion disappears. The fear sharpens. Her eyes focus.

“Oh, I’m going to tear this bitch apart.” The words come out low and furious.

Leah immediately starts typing something quickly into her computer before looking back at me.

“First things first,” she says sharply. “Damage control.”

I frown slightly. “What?”

“Rowan.”

My brows pull together instantly.

Leah gestures toward the project plans on the screen. “Your husband’s company is taking public hits right now because of the explosion and the investigation.” Her jaw tightens. “But if these plans are real?”

“They are.”

“Then I need an interview with him immediately.”

I blink. “You want to interview Rowan?”

“Yes.”

That almost makes me laugh. Because Rowan hates interviews. Actually hates them.

“He’s going to love that,” Camille mutters dryly.

Leah ignores her completely, already thinking three steps ahead now. “I need him talking publicly about these projects,” she continues. “The housing plans. The environmental redevelopment. The employment initiatives.”

She points sharply at the screen. “People need to see where his money is actually going before this corruption story breaks.”