"You really thought I'd stay away?" Bianca says, returning to a world that kept moving without her. In this thrilling sequel to Obsessed. Bianca's back is she the same? What happened while she was away? With her return, old wounds are reopened, forc...
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"Say that again. Slowly."
I had the phone pressed to my ear, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in my office, the skyline of the city stretching out like an empire I built with my own hands. Everything outside looked calm steady, concrete, expensive. But inside, things were anything but.
The voice on the other end of the line belonged to Marcus, my auditor. And he was nervous. He never sounded nervous.
"There's a discrepancy, Singapore and Zurich," he repeated. "Offshore accounts. We ran a second audit this morning. Something's not adding up, Richard. The numbers are off. Significantly."
"How significantly?"
He hesitated.
"Seven figures. Just under eight. And there's... more."
Of course there is. There's always more lately.
"We picked up signs of a leak internal. Someone's been passing information. Not traceable through standard digital channels. But there's a pattern now. Same signature in two separate incidents."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. My jaw tightened. Seven figures missing, a potential leak, and I was just hearing about this now?
"I want a name," I said coldly.
"We're working on it. I'll update you in an hour."
I ended the call without a goodbye. My thumb hovered over the screen, then instinctively opened my email. Something was off, my gut had been telling me for weeks, but I'd ignored it, busy chasing too many deals, too many distractions.
I clicked. The email loaded like a punch to the chest.
Richard,
Multiple investors have pulled out within the last 48 hours. Market analysts are speculating internal volatility. Dawson Enterprises has dropped 6.2% since this morning alone. Attached are screenshots of trending posts and whispers about leadership instability.
Call me immediately.
– Darren
I didn't call him. I stared at the screen for a full minute, reading the words again. My company, my legacy, bleeding out on every financial feed across the globe.
And no one seemed to know why.
I sat down, the leather of my chair creaking beneath me. The office felt heavier now. Quieter. I looked at the monitor on the far wall. Stocks blinking red. One after the other. Like watching arteries clot and burst in real time.
The door opened a crack. Amelia, stepped in. Her expression was tight, composed. She always looked composed, even when the building was on fire.
"Richard," she said cautiously. "Your mother's office called. Three times. She wants to speak to you before dinner. You've also got board members trying to get through East Coast and London. Press is circling too. Bloomberg just ran a segment."
