Chapter 4 - The Midnight Ledger
The grandfather clock in the main hall struck twelve times, its deep, resonant chimes vibrating through the empty corridors of the Lake Forest estate.
Fiona wore dark trousers and a simple black cashmere sweater—practical clothing for a woman who intended to commit corporate espionage before breakfast.
She slipped out of her second-floor suite, moving with a silent, heavy-footed grace that defied every stereotype the household held about her. The staff slept in the East Wing; Seth was locked away in his private underground bunker across the property reviewing cartel logs; and the night watchmen followed a predictable, automated patrol pattern every forty-five minutes.
Fiona bypassed the security cameras with the ease of someone who had spent her teenage years hacking her father’s illegal offshore bank accounts while he drank whiskey in the living room. She slipped into Grant Mercer’s private administrative office on the main floor.
The room smelled of old paper, leather, and pipe tobacco.
Moving directly to Mercer’s heavy oak desk, Fiona found the bottom drawer locked. She didn't hesitate. Pulling a small, modified tension wrench and pick set from her pocket—tools she had carried since her father's creditors first started pounding on their front door—she felt the tumbler click within four seconds.
The drawer slid open.
Inside sat a thick leather-bound ledger labeled Racine Operations - Confidential.
Fiona pulled out a small tactical flashlight, clicking it to a low red beam, and began turning the pages. Her eyes scanned columns of numbers, shipping weights, and cash drops at lightning speed. Math had always been her armor. While other girls memorized pop songs, Fiona memorized balance sheets.
Within five minutes, her breath caught.
The numbers in Mercer’s ledger didn't match the numbers Grant Mercer had reported to Seth during the weekly executive briefings.
In fact, Mercer’s ledger showed higher profits and clean shipments. But the financial summaries Angelo Ross handed to Seth every Monday morning showed severe deficits and missing inventory.
Someone was altering the paperwork between Mercer’s desk and Seth’s office.
"Looking for a bedtime story, Mrs. Basil?"
The voice came from the open doorway. It was quiet, steady, and instantly lethal.
May you like
Fiona didn't flinch. She slowly closed the ledger, clicked off her flashlight, and turned around.
Leaning against the doorframe, holding a glass of ice water with a relaxed posture that didn't reach his cold eyes, stood Seth Basil. His gun was still in his shoulder holster, but his hand rested casually over the leather strap.
