Chapter 5

The gala was a triumph.

Christa moved through the crowd with Cora at her side, deflecting questions about Denny's absence with practiced ease. "Emergency board business," she murmured to the concerned faces. "You know how it is with a company this size. He sends his deepest regrets."

No one believed her, of course. She could see the speculation in their eyes, the quick calculations of what a solo appearance meant for the Sanford marriage. But she gave them nothing to work with-no strained smiles, no defensive explanations, no brittle humor.

Just calm, gracious, slightly concerned professionalism.

Cora performed beautifully, shaking hands with the foundation's patrons, reciting her practiced lines about "helping children in need." When the carousel display opened, she rode the painted horse with her chin high, waving to the crowd like the princess her father had named her.

Christa watched from the edge of the spotlight, her smile fixed, her mind elsewhere.

She was thinking about server logs. About timestamped entries and digital signatures and the particular beauty of data that could not lie.

The next morning, she was in her laboratory by seven. She worked through lunch, through the afternoon, through the dinner hour that came and went without any message from Denny. Zoe Vance brought her coffee at intervals, her expression growing more worried with each delivery.

"Dr. Byrd, you should eat something."

"I'm fine, Zoe. Thank you."

She wasn't fine. She was focused. She was building something, piece by piece, and she couldn't stop until it was complete.

The phone rang at four in the afternoon. Denny's number.

Christa let it ring three times before answering, her eyes still on her screen. "Yes?"

"Christa." Brittany's voice again. Thinner this time, frayed at the edges. "I... I'm sorry to bother you. I didn't know who else to call."

Christa set down her stylus. She leaned back in her chair and waited.

"I saw the news," Brittany continued. Her voice cracked. "The photographs, the stories. I couldn't bear it. The stress... I think it affected the baby. I'm at the Lennox Hill private clinic. Denny brought me in. An anxiety attack, they said, and possible dehydration. I just... I thought if I just slept, it would stop hurting. I took too many of my pills. The ones for anxiety."

A pause. Christa could hear the faint, rhythmic beep of a hospital monitor in the background, a perfectly staged piece of sound design.

"Denny found me," Brittany whispered. "He made me throw them up. He's been with me all night, here at the clinic. His phone died. He asked me to call you, so you wouldn't worry."

Each word was a needle, placed with surgical precision. Found me. All night. So you wouldn't worry.

Christa picked up her stylus and tapped it against her desk. One. Two. Three.

"Is Denny available now?" she asked. "I have a document that requires his signature. Time-sensitive."

Brittany's breath caught. She had expected tears, accusations, the messy explosion of a wounded wife.

"I... he's speaking with the doctor."

"Then I'll route it through the board secretary. Emergency protocol." Christa's voice remained level, professional, utterly indifferent. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Brittany. These things happen, with grief. With the pressure of public attention."

She let the silence stretch, let Brittany hear what she wasn't saying.

"You must be relieved," Christa continued, "to have such a devoted brother-in-law. Denny always did take his family obligations seriously."

The words landed precisely where she intended. Family obligations. Not love. Not passion. Just duty, just burden, just another item on an endless list of Sanford responsibilities.

"I... yes." Brittany's voice had lost its performative warmth. "He's been wonderful."

"I'm sure. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting. Take care of yourself, Brittany. We wouldn't want any more... accidents."

She ended the call and set down her phone.

Zoe Vance hovered in the doorway, her eyes wide. "Dr. Byrd? Is everything alright?"

Christa looked at her assistant-really looked at her, this competent young woman who had worked beside her for three years without ever questioning the strange arrangements of the Sanford family.

"Zoe," she said. "I need you to prepare a comprehensive assessment of the Stardust Project. Budget allocation, personnel assignments, timeline compliance. Everything."

Zoe blinked. The Stardust Project was Brittany Baldwin's signature initiative, a charitable technology program that the research division had always considered lightweight-more public relations than science.

"Of course. May I ask...?"

Christa's smile was small and sharp. "We're going to audit it. Thoroughly. And then, Zoe, we're going to kill it."

She turned back to her screen, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Tomorrow's board meeting would include an emergency agenda item, added by special request of the Chief Technology Officer. A compliance review of the Stardust Project's data integrity and budget utilization.

Denny would fight her. He would invoke family, invoke grief, invoke the memory of his dead brother.

But he would lose.

Because Dr. Christa Byrd had spent seven years being harmless.

And she was just getting started.