(Vanessa's POV)
My office is small but deliberately positioned outside Sebastian's suite, close enough to hear the timbre of his voice when he raises it, far enough that no one else can hear mine. I drop my Hermès bag on the credenza, power on the monitor, and log in with the same brisk efficiency I use for everything else. The email from Julian Cross sits there like a loaded gun, still unread, red exclamation mark pulsing in the inbox like a heartbeat.
I click it open.
The attachment loads quickly a clean PDF titled Preliminary Audit Findings Q3 Reconciliations Confidential. Twenty-three pages of transaction logs, highlighted discrepancies, flagged vendor codes. The summary on page one is brutally clear:
Total irregular transfers identified: $187,432.17
Pattern: Systematic over-invoicing and manual adjustments to reconciliation spreadsheets
Primary access: Finance Accounts Payable team
No direct accusation in bold letters, but the trail is unmistakable. Every altered invoice, every reconciled line that doesn't match the bank feed. It all leads back to her quiet little cubicle on the 14th floor.
I lean back in the ergonomic chair, pulse calm, mouth curving into something that isn't quite a smile. Perfect.
I select the five most damning pages; the summary, the transaction waterfall chart, the access log screenshot, the vendor reconciliation exceptions, and the final variance analysis, then send them to the private printer. The machine hums softly, spitting out crisp sheets. I slide them into a slim black leather folder, no label, no cover sheet. Sebastian prefers things concise when he's preparing to dismantle someone.
I knock once on his door, sharp but professional then push it open without waiting.
He's already at his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie still loose, eyes glued to his screen.
"Mr. Kane," I say, voice smooth. "You'll want to see this."
He doesn't look up immediately. "If it's the Singapore follow-up, it can wait."
"It's not." I cross the room, place the folder in front of him, open to the summary page. "Internal Audit. Dropped last night. Preliminary, but… significant."
His eyes flick down. He scans the first paragraph, then the numbers. His expression remained stone, unreadable but I knew him well enough to catch the subtle tightening at the corner of his jaw.
"Mara Reed," he reads aloud, voice flat.
"Yes." I keep my tone neutral "Multiple unauthorized adjustments. Funds diverted to external accounts. This isn't amateur work."
He closes the folder slowly. When he finally looks at me, his gaze is cold enough to burn.
"Get her up here. Now."
I nod once. "I'll have security escort her if necessary."
"No." He leans back, fingers steepled. "Just tell her I want to see her. Immediately. No explanation."
I allow myself the smallest smile. "Of course."
I turn to leave.
"Vanessa."
I pause at the door.
His voice is low, almost casual. "You intercepted this last night?"
I meet his eyes. "I received it. I thought you should see it first."
A beat of silence.
"Good," he says. "Keep it that way."
I leave his office with the folder still on his desk and the taste of victory sharp on my tongue.
(Sebastian's POV)
The door clicks shut behind Vanessa.
I stare at the closed folder for a long moment, then flip it open again.
Mara Reed.
$187,432.17.
Late-night logins.
Manual overrides.
I remember her in the elevator, back pressed to the wall, eyes fixed on the floor numbers, refusing to give me even a glance. That same quiet control. That same indifference.
Now I know why she couldn't afford to look at me.
She was stealing from me.
The anger ignites low in my gut, steady and hot, but beneath it something darker stirs, curiosity edged with hunger. The same dark spark that flickered when she walked through the revolving doors without so much as a flutter of deference. Every other woman in this building would have smiled, blushed, angled her body toward me. She gave me nothing.
Instead she took from me.
The thought of it twists the anger tighter. Of all the people who could have tried to bleed me, why her? The small, silent accountant with the cheap navy blazer and the low, tight bun. The one who looked through me like I was glass.
I press the intercom. "Vanessa. Status?"
Her voice comes through crisp. "She's on her way up. ETA three minutes."
I release the button.
Three minutes.
I stand, walk to the windows, hands in my pockets.
Thinking about her face last night, I've decided what to do to her something more personal than handcuffs and courtroom.
Something that will make her understand exactly how much power she handed me the moment she typed those first altered numbers.
I think about how she'll look when I show her the evidence.
When she realizes there's no way out.
When she understands that the only thing standing between her and a felony charge… is me.
The intercom buzzes softly.
"She's here," Vanessa says.
I turn back to the desk.
"Send her in."
The door opens.
Mara Reed steps inside in her navy blazer, hair in that same low bun. She looks smaller in this room, dwarfed by the scale of it, but her chin is up. Barely.
"Mr. Kane," she says. Voice steady. Too steady.
I don't smile.
I gesture to the chair opposite my desk. "Sit."
She hesitates only for a second then sits. Back straight. Hands folded in her lap.
I pick up the folder, open it to the summary page, and slide it across the polished wood toward her.
"Read it."
Her eyes drop to the page. I watch them widen, just a fraction. Color drains from her cheeks.
I lean forward, elbows on the desk, voice low.
"Explain to me, Ms. Reed, why I shouldn't call the authorities right now."
Her gaze snaps up to mine.
For the first time since the elevator, she looks at me.
And I see it.
Raw fear.
Desperation, sharp enough to cut.
The glitch cracking wide open.