Chapter 4 - The Audit
The guest suite was larger than Claire’s entire apartment. It featured a king-sized bed with cream silk sheets, a stone fireplace, and a massive marble bathroom equipped with a soaking tub.
Mrs. Gable washed the dirt from the cuts on Claire’s feet, applied soothing antiseptic ointment, and brought her a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and sweatpants that smelled faintly of lavender. After a hot meal of roasted chicken and home-cooked soup, Claire fell into a deep, dreamless sleep for the first time in days.
When she woke late the following morning, the sun was streaming through the high windows.
After dressing, she cautiously stepped out into the hallway and followed the rich aroma of fresh coffee down to the ground floor. She found Gabriel sitting at a long mahogany table in a sunlit library, surrounded by stacks of financial ledgers, printouts, and two laptops.
He was wearing a dark blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing muscular arms covered in faint, silvery scars.
He looked up as she entered. “Good morning, Claire. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said quietly, smoothing down her sweater. “I… I wanted to thank you. For the room. And Mrs. Gable.”
“Sit,” Gabriel offered, gesturing to the leather armchair across from him. He poured a cup of fresh coffee and pushed it toward her, alongside a plate of warm pastries.
Claire sat nervously on the edge of the chair. She looked at the screens in front of him. Her sharp, analytical eye immediately caught the layout of the spreadsheets.
“That’s the Mercer Freight secondary balance sheet,” she noted, leaning forward despite herself.
“It is,” Gabriel replied, watching her reaction. “My forensic accountants have been reviewing it all morning. They’re having trouble untangling the shell companies Richard created in Europe.”
Claire reached out. “May I?”
Gabriel spun one of the laptops toward her.
Claire took a sip of the coffee, placed her hands on the keyboard, and within seconds, her entire demeanor shifted. The timid, terrified woman disappeared, replaced by a brilliant, laser-focused financial expert. Her fingers flew across the keys with practiced ease.
“My father isn’t smart enough to design an offshore routing system,” Claire explained, her eyes darting across lines of code and transaction IDs. “He hired a consultant out of Zurich six months ago. Look here—at transaction sequence 409. He didn’t use European shell companies to hide the four million. He used them as a decoy.”
Gabriel leaned closer, his arm resting on the back of her chair. His proximity was intimidating, but for the first time, Claire didn't shrink away.
“Where is the money, Claire?” Gabriel asked softly.
“It’s sitting in domestic freight escrow accounts disguised as unpaid diesel tax refunds,” she said, pulling up a hidden sub-ledger. “It’s right here. All four point one million dollars. It never left Chicago.”
Gabriel stared at the screen, then looked at Claire with genuine admiration.
“My accountants spent six hours missing what you found in six minutes,” Gabriel said, his voice laced with rich amusement.
Claire felt a hot flush spread across her cheeks—not from shame, but from a sudden, unfamiliar wave of pride. “I spent five years keeping Mercer Freight alive while my brother spent the profits on sports cars. I know those books better than anyone.”
Gabriel rested his chin on his hand, looking at her intently. “Richard told me you were useless.”
Claire looked down at her hands, her shadow darkening again. “That’s what they always told me. That I was unmarketable. Too slow. Too big. Too quiet. My father said I should be grateful he gave me a desk job because no real company would ever hire me.”
May you like
Gabriel reached across the desk, his large hand folding over hers, stopping her nervous fidgeting.
“Your father is a fool, Claire,” Gabriel said, his tone deadly serious. “And starting today, you don’t work for him anymore. You work for me.”
