Chapter 187 The Truth About Caldwell

The cold blue glow of the laptop screen lit Genevieve’s face in the darkened study. She sat rigid in the leather chair, the rich mahogany desk pressing against her thighs. Outside, the city pulsed with life, but inside, time stood still. Her finger hovered above the play button, heart hammering so hard she thought it might split her chest. She finally tapped it. The grainy footage sputtered to life, and there he was, Caldwell. His posture was confident, almost too confident, a polished suit hanging on his tall, lean frame. His hair, always neatly combed, looked a little disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it one too many times.