Chapter 3 - The Return of the Ghost
The seventy-story tower of Mercer Global Enterprises dominated the city skyline, a glittering monument of glass and steel built on a foundation of stolen lives and buried crimes.
I stepped out of the black town car wearing a tailored charcoal suit, my dark hair pulled back into a sleek, professional bun, and dark-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of my nose. Seven years of physical training, cosmetic therapy for my facial scars, and an entirely different posture made me unrecognizable to anyone who had known the frail, broken girl of nineteen.
Accompanied by a team of six junior forensic accountants, I walked through the grand marble lobby.
The security guards bowed their heads respectfully, scanning our master badges. We were taken straight to the top floor—the executive suite.
When the elevator doors slid open, my heart gave a single, quiet thud before returning to a steady, cold rhythm.
Standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows of the corner office was Gerald Mercer.
He had aged. His hair was completely silver now, and his once-intimidating posture had a slight slouch, though his expensive Italian suit still gave him an air of supreme authority. Beside him sat Cynthia Mercer, wearing a pearl necklace, sipping champagne from a crystal glass like a queen surveying her court.
They were celebrating the upcoming merger.
"Ah, Miss Vance!" Gerald called out, turning around with a broad, practiced smile that had tricked hundreds of investors over the decades. He walked forward, extending his hand. "The legendary financial auditor. I must say, your reputation precedes you. Vanguard assured me you were the best in the business."
I looked down at his right hand—the same hand that had smashed into my face seven years ago.
I shook it firmly, my voice smooth as silk. "I pride myself on absolute accuracy, Mr. Mercer. I find things that people try very hard to hide."
Gerald let out a booming laugh. "Well, you won't find much here! We just need your firm's stamp of approval to satisfy our foreign partners before the signing ceremony in two weeks."
Cynthia walked over, setting her glass down, examining me with her cold, superficial blue eyes. "You look familiar, Miss Vance. Have we met before?"
My blood ran cold for a split second, but my expression never flickered. "I doubt it, Mrs. Mercer. I’ve spent the last several years working out of New York and Zurich."
"Ah, of course," Cynthia smiled thinly. "Gerald, make sure Miss Vance has everything she needs. I have my charity gala committee meeting at three."
Charity gala. The irony was almost stomach-churning. The woman who had filmed her daughter bleeding on a concrete floor was now the head of the city’s prominent child welfare board.
"We have set up your team in the central conference room," Gerald said, gesturing down the hallway. "Full access to our digital servers. My Chief Financial Officer, Marcus Vance—no relation to you, I assume—will assist you."
"That won't be necessary," I replied, opening my briefcase to reveal a series of encrypted military-grade hard drives. "My team works independently. We don't rely on prepared statements, Mr. Mercer. We look at raw data."
May you like
Gerald’s eyes narrowed slightly, a momentary shadow of suspicion passing over his face. "Of course. Whatever it takes to get the green light by the fourteenth."
"Oh, you’ll get exactly what you deserve by the fourteenth, Mr. Mercer," I said warmly. "You have my personal word on that."
