The Last Supper at Nero's

Morgan wasn't a real spy—corporate espionage didn't come with the tuxedo glamour of cinema. It came with spinach stuck in your teeth and a second martini you shouldn't have ordered.

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" Elena asked, pushing her risotto around her plate. They'd come here for their anniversary, but the conversation had been circling the drain since appetizers.

"I have to." Morgan touched the silver drive in his pocket. "Ridgeway Technology is built on a pyramid of lies. Their clinical trial data—it's all fabricated. People are going to die unless someone bears witness."

"And that someone has to be you." Elena's voice cracked. "You've got a target on your back, Morgan. Their legal team is a bull in a china shop—they'll destroy you."

Morgan thought about the hidden drive, the documents he'd spent six months gathering while pretending to be a loyal mid-level manager. He thought about Sarah, the VP who'd recruited him, and her warnings about what happened to people who talked too much.

"I met someone," Elena said quietly.

The words hit like a physical blow. Morgan's fingers tightened around his glass.

"His name is David. He's an architect. He doesn't come home with bloodshot eyes, wondering if today's the day the hammer falls." She reached across the table, then pulled back. "I can't do this anymore. The waiting, the fear—"

"Elena."

"—the spinach in your teeth at dinner because you're too distracted to look in a mirror." She stood up, gathering her purse. "I'm staying at my sister's. I'll send for my things."

Morgan watched her walk out. He ordered another martini. The corporate whistle-blower reward was seven million dollars—enough to start over, if he survived. If the lawsuit didn't bankrupt him first. If Ridgeway's CEO didn't decide an accident was cheaper than bad press.

The bartender appeared with a fresh glass. "Rough night?"

"You could say that." Morgan slid the drive across the polished wood. "What do you know about bears?"

"Bears?"

"How much they'll endure before they finally turn around and rip your throat out."

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "You've had enough."

Morgan paid his tab and walked into the cold Chicago night. His phone buzzed—an encrypted message from Sarah: *Ridgeway knows. They're coming.*

He hailed a cab. The whistleblower hotline could wait until morning. Tonight, he had a marriage to save, even if it meant walking into the lion's den alone. Some battles were worth the blood, even if you walked away scarred.

Especially then.