The scent of ozone still clung faintly to Cheryl’s studio, a ghost of the electrical surge that had destroyed her custom diffusion system. Louis had worked a quiet miracle, fashioning a temporary solution from spare parts and sheer ingenuity, a testament to his commitment.
But even as the immediate crisis was averted, the deeper wound of betrayal festered. Joyce’s insidious campaign had nearly brought her to ruin, and the thought ignited a cold fury in Cheryl’s gut.
She couldn’t simply move past it; she had to understand, to expose.
Her first thought was Dennis. He was a man of systems, of order, and crucially, of unwavering loyalty.
She found him in his office at the Observatory, surrounded by event schedules and diagrams, a picture of calm efficiency. He looked up, his warm smile faltering slightly as he saw the grim set of her jaw.
“Cheryl? Is everything alright with the temporary system?” he asked, his concern immediate and genuine.
Cheryl shook her head, sinking into the chair opposite his desk. “The system is… functional, thanks to Louis. But no, Dennis, everything is not alright. I need your help. Discreetly.”
She laid out her suspicions, detailing the string of “accidents” – the changed formulas, the broken equipment, the ruined materials, the missing ingredients, and finally, the utterly destroyed diffusion system. She spoke of Joyce’s constant presence, her veiled criticisms, her unsettling “interventions.”
Dennis listened, his expression growing steadily more serious, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“You believe Joyce is behind all of this,” he stated, not as a question, but as a confirmation of her conviction.
“I know it,” Cheryl affirmed, her voice tight with a mixture of anger and frustration. “I just can’t prove it. And without proof, it’s just my word against hers, and she’s very good at making me look… disorganized, or worse, incompetent.”
Dennis leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “Joyce has always been… a force. And possessive of Louis’s work. I’ve seen her operate before, though never quite like this. You’re right, direct proof will be difficult. But circumstantial evidence, a pattern, can be just as damning.” He paused, then met her eyes. “What do you need?”
A wave of relief washed over Cheryl. Dennis didn’t question her, didn’t doubt her.
He simply offered his support, no strings attached. “I need to know where she was, when. Who she spoke to. Anything that places her at the scene, or near it, around the time of each incident. And if anyone else noticed anything unusual.”
Dennis nodded, already formulating a plan. “The Observatory has extensive security protocols, especially around sensitive areas like your studio, and Louis’s. We also have visitor logs, staff sign-ins, and a fairly comprehensive internal communication system. I can access all of that. It won’t be overt surveillance, but I can cross-reference timelines. I’ll start with the most recent incident, the diffusion system, and work backward.”
Over the next few days, Dennis became Cheryl’s silent partner in investigation. He worked tirelessly, often late into the night, sifting through digital records, discreetly questioning staff members without raising suspicion, and reviewing security footage from various angles.
He would send Cheryl encrypted messages with his findings, or meet her for hushed conversations over coffee, away from prying eyes.