She did not like it. She said so, in the direct and unfussy way she said all things, when he told her the following morning that the nature of the protection needed to change.
"How close?" she said.
"I need to be inside your office building, not in the corridor. I need to be in the vicinity when you meet people. And I need a contact point — I need you to check in with me when your plans change unexpectedly."
"That last one is a no," she said immediately. "I am not reporting my movements to anyone."
"It's not reporting your movements," he said. "It's a safety check. Fifteen seconds, one text. The difference between someone knowing you're supposed to be somewhere at a certain time and someone not knowing is — in the current situation — significant."
She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup. She looked at the street. He waited. He had learned, in the week of watching her, that she needed time between receiving something and responding to it — not because she was slow, but because she was thorough. The people who pushed her before she was ready got less of her than the people who waited.
"One text," she said finally. "If my plans change significantly — not for every small variation, just significant ones."
"Agreed."
"Inside the building, not in my office."
"The lobby or the corridor, your choice."
"Corridor." She finally looked at him. "Why has it changed? What have you found?"
"The incidents are not random or opportunistic. They're planned by someone who knows your schedule and has inside access to information about your private arrangements. That means the risk is closer than varying your route can address." He paused. "I can't tell you more than that yet. Two more weeks."
She watched him with those direct, reading eyes. "You know who it is," she said.
"I have a hypothesis. I don't have evidence. When I have evidence, I will tell you everything."
A very long silence. Something was happening in her face — something controlled, something contained. And he understood, watching it, that she might already know. Not the full extent of it. But a suspicion. Something that had happened in the pre-nuptial financial review that she had been sitting with in the particular alone way of someone who had received information that would destroy something they also loved.
"Two weeks," she said. Her voice entirely steady. "And then you tell me everything."
"Everything I can prove. Yes."
She stood. At the door she paused. "Arjun."
"Yes."
"The corridor in my building has a terrible chair. The building manager keeps it there for some reason. You should bring your own."
She left. He sat for a moment. Then he went to work.✦
