I stared at the flashing screen, letting the phone buzz against the desk. It wasn't until the third ring that I finally swiped to answer.
"Are you avoiding me?" Walter's voice was low, laced with suppressed irritation.
"I'm busy."
"Too busy to pick up a call?"
I walked to the window, watching the traffic weave through the streets below, an endless stream of red and white lights.
"Walter," I said, keeping my voice even. "We're past the point of checking in on each other."
Silence stretched over the line. A few seconds later, he cracked. "Accounting has been flagging transactions recently. Did you say something to the Board?"
Finally, the real reason for the call.
"It's just standard procedure."
"You never cared about these things before."
A faint smile touched my lips. "Before, I was the one covering your tracks. Now? I'm not."
Walter paused. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
I didn't wait for a response. I ended the call.
My computer chimed. New emails from my Executive Assistant populated the inbox.
The subject line was sparse. I clicked it open.
The first attachment was Hailey Winfield's dossier.
It was far more complex than the "fresh graduate" profile I remembered. Two years ago, she had already begun siphoning dividends from Walter's projects through a shell company.
The amounts weren't astronomical, but the paper trail was immaculate. Clean enough that only an insider could have orchestrated it.
I scrolled through the pages, the timeline sharpening into focus.
She wasn't a recent addition. She had infiltrated Walter's inner circle during the exact period I was too buried in operations to look up. While I was building the empire, she was busy carving out her piece of it.
I shut the laptop and leaned back.
My heart didn't race; there was no sting of betrayal. Only the cold satisfaction of confirmation.
It wasn't that I lacked competence. Someone had planned to cut me out long ago.
My phone buzzed again. The Board Secretary.
"Ms. Harding, regarding the compliance concerns you raised—several directors are taking this seriously. An internal audit has been initiated."
I typed a brief reply: Proceed.
Then added: Follow protocol. Do not make exceptions on my account.
As the message sent, I felt the shift. The bridge wasn't just burned—it was demolished.
Midnight.
A text from Walter flashed on the screen.
"What exactly do you want?"
I stared at the words. My fingers moved deliberately over the keys.
"I want you to return everything that doesn't belong to you. Every single cent."
Sent.
The screen went dark. Outside, the city slept, unaware that the real show was just beginning.
I returned to the country without fanfare.
The flight touched down at dawn, the terminal sparse, the air biting with a damp chill.
My Executive Assistant was waiting at the arrivals gate.
"Ms. Harding, the Board has called an emergency session. Mr. Delgado is in attendance."
I nodded, passing her my luggage. "Proceed with the plan."
She paused, eyes widening slightly, before professional composure took over. "Understood."
I pushed open the heavy doors to the conference room. The discussion died instantly.
Every head turned.
I saw surprise, relief, and in some corners, palpable nervousness.
Walter sat to the right of the chairman's seat. His brow furrowed as he registered my presence.
"Willow?" He stood, caught off guard. "I thought you were overseas."
"I finished early."
My tone was casual as I pulled out a chair.
"Just in time, it seems. I heard there's a pressing item on the agenda."
