Filed to story: Violet and Rowan Ashcroft Book PDF Free
“I think,” he replies, voice still calm, “that you’re very good at staying in control. And people who stay in control usually have a reason.”
“Or a necessity,” I say.
He tilts his head. “That job of yours. Ashcroft Industries. You ever see anything… questionable there?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because companies like that,” he continues, “they intersect with politics. Money. Regulation. Men who think rules don’t apply to them.”
I think of Rowan Ashcroft. His office. His voice. The way he looks at people like they’re variables.
“I answer phones,” I say. “I schedule meetings.”
Calder smiles again. “That’s not all you do.”
It’s not a question.
I hold his gaze. “If you’re implying my brother’s disappearance is connected to my employer, you should say that plainly.”
“I’m saying,” he replies, “that you’re closer to power than you want to admit. And power has a way of dragging people into messes they didn’t ask for.”
I stand slowly. “Are you charging me with something?”
“No.”
“Then are we done?”
He watches me for a long moment.
“Not yet,” he says. “This is an ongoing investigation.”
“Then investigate,” I reply. “I’ve been cooperative.”
He stands too, stepping closer-not invading, but testing distance.
“Don’t leave town,” he repeats.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“And Ms. Pierce?”
“Yes.”
“If you remember anything-anything at all-call me.”
“I already have.”
He studies my face, then nods once. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Not breaking.”
I don’t respond.
I walk out of the room, past the front desk, back into the night air. The city hums like nothing in the world is wrong.
My phone buzzes.
A missed call.
Ashcroft Industries. Avery.
Of course it’s her.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself.
The detective was cold. Calculating. Suspicious.
Just like Rowan.
Different uniform. Same pressure.
I can handle men like that.
I always have.
What I don’t know yet is which one of them is more dangerous-
The man who watches from behind glass.
Or the one who waits in the dark for me to slip.Violet
I don’t sleep much.
That isn’t new. What is new is the reason.
By the time my alarm goes off, my phone already has twelve missed calls and four voicemails. All from the same number.
Avery.
I don’t listen to the voicemails. I don’t need to. I already know what they say because she said it all last night in frantic, breathless texts.
The printer isn’t working.
The coffee machine broke.
I tried to fix it but now there’s water everywhere.
What do I do???
I groan quietly and swing my legs out of bed.
That’s why I’m at Ashcroft Industries forty-five minutes early.
The building is quieter than usual when I arrive. The security guard nods at me like he always does. I nod back. No small talk. No commentary. Just routine.
The moment I push through the employee door, I smell it.
Burnt coffee.
I close my eyes for half a second and brace myself.
Avery is nowhere in sight.
The employee kitchen looks like a crime scene. Water pooled across the counter and floor. Coffee grounds everywhere-on the counter, in the sink, scattered like she tried to fight the machine and lost. The pot itself sits crooked, lid off, steam long gone.
I press my fingers into my forehead.
“Of course,” I mutter.
I don’t call her. I don’t text her. I just roll up my sleeves and get to work.
Paper towels first. Mop next. I unplug the coffee machine and dry the counter, the floor, the outlet-because the last thing we need is a blown circuit on top of everything else. I wipe the grounds into the trash, rinse the sink, reset the pot.
It takes me exactly twelve minutes.
I start a fresh pot of coffee immediately after. The good beans. The ones Rowan prefers. Two ice cubes later. Same as always.
Only then do I head toward the printer room.
I already know what I’ll find.
The printer is blinking angrily, tray empty, the screen flashing OUT OF PAPER like it’s mocking me.
I raise an eyebrow.
I open the tray.
Empty.
I slide in three fresh stacks of paper and press print.
The machine whirs to life.
And doesn’t stop.
Sheets start flying out. One. Five. Ten. Twenty.
I grab the stack, staring at the header.
ROWAN ASHCROFT DAILY SCHEDULE
I blink.
Then another stack comes out.
Then another.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
“She spammed print,” I mutter to no one.
By the time it stops, there are nearly fifty copies scattered across the tray and floor. I scoop them up, recycle everything except one, and take it with me to the desk.
I scan it automatically.
My brow furrows.
One meeting is missing.
Not moved. Not rescheduled.
Removed.
That doesn’t happen by accident.I pull it up on my computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. Two clicks later, the reason is clear.
Rowan removed it himself.
No note. No explanation.
Just… gone.
I don’t question it. I just update the schedule, reprint it once, clean and correct, and slide it neatly into the folder.
Then I grab the coffee. The muffin. Blueberry. Warmed just enough.
I don’t bother hiding this time.
I set everything on the counter behind the desk, place the folder beside it, and sit down. Headset on. Phone already ringing.
“Ashcroft Industries,” I say calmly.
I’m still on the call when the elevator dings.
I don’t stand.
I don’t look up.
I hear his footsteps anyway. Measured. Certain.
Rowan Ashcroft stops at the desk.
I keep my tone professional, finishing the call without rushing. I log the message. Route it correctly. Hang up.
Only then do I glance up.
He’s alone.
No Avery.
&
I register it and let it go.
His gaze flicks briefly to the counter. The coffee. The muffin. The schedule already waiting,
He picks up the folder and flips through it in silence.
I put my headset back on and answer the next call.
He doesn’t say anything.
He stands there longer than necessary, scanning the page. I can feel it-the pause. The hesitation. Like he’s about to speak and decides against it.
Then he takes the coffee, the muffin, and walks away.
No comment. No acknowledgment.
Just… acceptance.
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and go back to work.
Because this is how it always is.
Things break. People fail. Systems collapse.
And I’m the one who puts it all back together before anyone notices.
Theo Ashcroft appears ten minutes later like he belongs to a different building entirely.
He doesn’t stalk out of the elevator. He doesn’t pause to survey the lobby like he owns it. He just steps out, jacket slung over one shoulder, phone in hand, already mid-sentence.
