Daphne’s POV
I spend the night reviewing the USB drive Maya left.
At first, I'm simply grateful. Evidence of Eleanor's campaign compiled and organized. Exactly what I need to survive tomorrow's board meeting. Exactly what I've been searching for without knowing how to find it.
But as I click through files, confusion compounds.
Eleanor's phone records. Not just call logs showing who she contacted and when—those would be accessible through the company's systems if I knew where to look.
These are actual recordings. Eleanor's voice expressing concern about my "condition" to Harrison.
Her careful suggestions to Lucinda that perhaps the stress is affecting my judgment. Every damning conversation preserved in perfect audio quality.
How did Maya get these?
I open the next folder. Financial transactions from Eleanor's private accounts. Not the corporate accounts I have legitimate access to. Not the company cards that run through our accounting systems.
These are personal bank records, investment portfolios, transfers between accounts I didn't even know Eleanor maintained. Accounts Maya shouldn't know exist.
I click deeper. Security footage from Eleanor's home. Her private residence that has its own security system completely separate from the estate's.
Footage showing meetings with board members in her living room. Conversations I was never meant to see or hear.
How did Maya access Eleanor's home security system?
Internal communications from Eleanor's personal devices. Emails from accounts not associated with the company. Text messages from her private phone.
Calendar entries showing exactly when she scheduled her manipulation campaign, who she targeted, what she planned to say.
This isn't just collecting publicly available information. This isn't assistant work. This is surveillance, professional-level intelligence gathering.
The kind of skills that require training, resources, access to systems and databases that normal people, that normal assistants, don't have.
I sit back in my chair, staring at the screen. My gratitude is curdling into something else. Something that feels dangerously like an alarm.
Who is Maya Morrison?
What kind of assistant knows how to breach security systems, access private financial institutions, obtain recordings from personal devices?
What kind of person has these capabilities and uses them to help their employer fight a corporate battle?
And why?
The questions multiply faster than I can answer them. Eleanor's warnings echo in my memory—’Sometimes people aren't who they seem. Especially people who appear conveniently when you need them most.’
I dismissed it as more manipulation, more of Eleanor's campaign to make me doubt everyone around me.
But what if she was right? What if Maya isn't who she claims to be?
My hand moves to my phone before I consciously decide to make the call. It's two in the morning.
A reasonable person would wait until daylight. Would process this information, think through the implications, approach the conversation with strategy instead of panic.
I'm too pregnant, too tired, and too close to losing everything to be reasonable.
Maya answers on the third ring. Her voice is alert, not groggy. Like she wasn't sleeping either.
"Daphne? Is everything okay? Is it the baby?"
"I need you to answer a question." I don't bother with preambles. "How did you get Eleanor's phone records?"
Silence on the other end. Not confused silence, not innocent silence—the silence of someone who's been caught and is calculating their next move.
"The recordings," I continue. "The actual audio. Not just call logs. How did you access that?"
"Daphne—"
"And the financial transactions. From accounts I didn't even know Eleanor had. Accounts at private institutions that require extensive verification to access. How did you track those?"
More silence.
"The security footage from her home, her private residence with its own system." My voice is getting sharper.
"You somehow accessed that too. Along with her personal emails, her text messages, her calendar. Everything on this drive requires skills and access far beyond what an assistant should have."
I can hear Maya breathing—steady, controlled, not panicked.
"This isn't just overstepping boundaries," I say. "This requires professional capabilities. Intelligence gathering. The kind of surveillance that's…" I pause, choose my words carefully. "That's illegal in most contexts."
"You're right." Maya's voice is quiet, resigned. "I overstepped. Massively."
"That's all you're going to say?"
"What do you want me to say?" There's something in her tone. Not defiance exactly. More like... exhaustion.
"That I hacked Eleanor's phone to get those recordings? That I bypassed security protocols to access her financial records? That I illegally obtained footage from her home security system?"
My stomach drops. Hearing her admit it makes it real in ways it wasn't before.
"Why?" The question comes out barely above a whisper. "Why would you do this? What are you?"
Maya exhales slowly.
"I've been watching Eleanor undermine you for months. Watching her make calls and plant seeds and systematically destroy someone who's done nothing to deserve it. Someone who showed me nothing but kindness when I needed it most. And I couldn't just stand by."
"So you... what? Decided to conduct corporate espionage?"
"I accessed files I shouldn't have."
Maya's voice stays level. Matter-of-fact.
"Tracked expense reports through systems I bypassed. Recorded conversations without consent. Collected evidence through methods that would never hold up in court because they violate about fifteen different laws."
She pauses. I can hear her choosing words carefully.
"It was wrong. Possibly illegal. Definitely a massive overstep of my position and your trust. But I couldn't just watch Eleanor win, couldn't watch her use your pregnancy as a weapon and know I had the skills to fight back and do nothing."
The skills to fight back.
"Maya." My voice is harder now. "What kind of assistant has these skills? Who are you really?"
The silence stretches longer this time. I can almost hear her deciding what to tell me. How much truth to offer. What lies to maintain.
"Someone who wanted to help." Her answer is careful. "Someone who saw Eleanor destroying you and had the capability to stop it."
It's not an answer, not really. It's deflection wrapped in partial truth.
I should push harder and demand real answers. Should be questioning what kind of person I've allowed into my home, around my children, with access to my family's most private information.
But I'm thirty-two weeks pregnant, facing a board meeting in six hours specifically designed to remove me from power. And Maya just handed me the ammunition to survive.
Gratitude is overriding suspicion. Necessity is drowning out alarm. For now.
"I need you at the board meeting tomorrow." The words come out before I fully think them through. "Nine AM. As support."
"Of course." Maya's response is immediate, no hesitation. "I'll be there."
"And after..." I pause. "After we deal with Eleanor, you and I are having a much longer conversation about who you really are and what other capabilities you've been hiding."
"I understand."
We hang up. I sit in the dark office, phone still in my hand, staring at the USB drive that contains evidence obtained through methods I probably don't want to fully understand.
I should be alarmed, demanding answers immediately, should be calling security or legal or someone who can tell me what to do about an assistant who's apparently some kind of intelligence operative.
Instead, I open the presentation I've been building. Add the most damning pieces of evidence Maya collected. Structure the case that will dismantle Eleanor's manipulation and prove the board is being used.
Questions about Maya can wait. Tomorrow, I focus on surviving Eleanor's ambush. On keeping my position, on proving my pregnancy hasn't compromised my ability to lead.
After I've won—if I win—then I'll worry about who my babysitter really is. What she's really doing here, why someone with professional surveillance capabilities would position herself as a convenient hire exactly when I needed help most.
Eleanor warned me. Sometimes people aren't who they seem.
She was right. I just don't know yet if Maya is dangerous or if she's the best ally I've accidentally acquired.