Chapter 1 - The Traitor's Name
The silence in the closed boardroom was thick enough to suffocate a person.
Outside, rain lashed violently against the panoramic windows of the seventy-second floor, blurring the gray silhouette of the Seattle waterfront.
Roman Collins stood motionless, his sharp slate-gray eyes boring into the plastic-sleeved page I held between trembling fingers.
"Say the name, Clara," he commanded, his deep baritone barely louder than a whisper, yet vibrating with an icy tension that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
I took a slow breath to steady my racing pulse.
"Harrison Vance," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness.
Roman didn't flinch, but his left hand tightened slightly around his silver lighter until his knuckles turned ivory.
Harrison Vance was not just Roman's chief operating officer; he was Roman's late father's closest protégé, the man who had helped Roman inherit and restructure Collins Global Maritime fifteen years ago.
And, through a twist of estranged family history I had spent years running from, Harrison was also my father's older brother—my uncle.
"Your uncle," Roman noted, his voice flat, devoid of surprise.
"Yes," I replied, meeting his gaze.
"When Julian ordered me to balance the offshore logistics accounts last month, he gave me internal access to the routing servers. Julian thought he was using me to hide his own petty kickbacks, but when I ran the reconciliation algorithms against your European freight lines, I found mirror shell corporations registered in Dublin."
I turned the page, pointing to the digital signature block at the bottom of the audit report.
"Every diverted cargo manifest was signed off using Harrison's private administrative encryption key. Julian was just the ignorant middleman signing local port releases in exchange for half-million-dollar retainers."
Roman stepped closer, towering over me, smelling faintly of cedarwood, rain, and expensive tobacco.
He looked down at the financial spreadsheet, his eyes scanning the numbers with the speed of an analyst who lived and breathed maritime commerce.
"Eighteen million dollars across fourteen months," Roman murmured, calculating the figures in his head.
"My internal forensic team spent a quarter of a million dollars auditing our Hamburg terminal, and you uncovered the routing hub from a junior analyst desk in an assistant's cubicle."
"I have two master's degrees in supply chain mathematics, Mr. Collins," I replied with quiet dignity, refusing to shrink under his intense appraisal.
"Julian hired me as an assistant because the board refused to approve a female risk director, and he knew I needed the health insurance for my mother's chemotherapy."
Roman looked at me, a microscopic flicker of genuine respect softening the hard angles of his jaw.
"Julian Sterling will never work in North American logistics again, Miss Vance. That I promise you."
He reached out, his warm, strong fingers taking the heavy binder from my hands.
"Now let's talk about what happens to you."
"I assume I'm fired along with the rest of Julian's department," I said, preparing myself for the inevitable blow.
Roman offered a rare, razor-thin smirk that transformed his stern, intimidating face.
"Fired? Hardly. Northstar Maritime is officially acquiring forty-nine percent of its operational equity from Collins Global by sunset."
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He closed the binder with a sharp slap.
"And you are my new Special Auditor for the Pacific Rim. Pack your desk, Clara. You're moving to the executive penthouse suite."
