Marcus came to him on a Tuesday morning with Alehandra's intelligence.
Kendrick read the brief.
Sat with it.
Then sat with it longer.
He knew which board member.
Gerald Holt.
Sixty-three.
Old money.
Careful in the way of a man who had survived four decades of corporate politics by never fully committing to any position until it was safe to commit.
Gerald had never been Kendrick's strongest ally.
He was not an enemy.
He was something more dangerous than either: a cautious man who made decisions based on what felt safest in the moment.
Victor had been offering him safety.
Or the appearance of it.
Which was, to a man like Gerald, indistinguishable from the real thing.
Kendrick looked at the brief.
He thought about his options.
He could go through Marcus — surveillance on Gerald's communications with Victor, documentation, the slow build of a counter-case.
