My Boss Stole My 6-Week Project And Mocked Me In Front Of 20 Executives—Until The Billionaire Across The Table Made Him Pay For Every Word

The thirty-fifth floor of Collins Global Maritime felt like an entirely different planet.

Floor-to-ceiling soundproof glass framed a panoramic, breathtaking view of Elliott Bay, where massive container ships glided through the mist like floating steel islands.

My new private office was larger than my entire two-bedroom apartment in Ballard, complete with a dark walnut desk, a private shower, and a high-security server terminal.

At three in the afternoon, the private connecting door between our offices clicked open.

Roman Collins walked in, carrying two bone china cups of black coffee, having discarded his suit jacket and rolled his crisp white sleeves to his forearms.

"Sit, Clara," Roman said, setting one cup down on my desk before sinking into the leather armchair opposite mine.

"We have forty-eight hours before Harrison Vance realizes his Dublin shell accounts have been flagged."

I pulled up the primary audit spreadsheet on my triple-monitor setup, tapping the keys with rapid precision.

"Harrison has an emergency contingency protocol built into the European software," I explained, turning the center screen toward him.

"If any external IP address pings the Dublin routing accounts for more than ten consecutive minutes, the server initiates an automated wipe of the transaction logs."

Roman studied the green lines of code, his eyes sharp and analytical.

"How did you bypass it?"

"I didn't ping Dublin directly," I said, a faint smile touching my lips.

"I routed my inquiry through the Singapore port authority's customs mirror. Harrison's server thought the request was a routine international maritime safety check. By the time he realizes an audit occurred, we will already have thirty gigabytes of encrypted financial manifests."

Roman looked away from the screen, his dark eyes fixing directly on mine with an intensity that made my pulse skip.

"You are extraordinary, Clara."

"I'm simply someone who pays attention to details, Mr. Collins," I deflected, feeling a delicate warmth creeping into my cheeks.

"Call me Roman," he said softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate tone that made the vast office feel suddenly very small.

"Men like Julian Sterling and your uncle surround themselves with titles and noise because they have nothing real underneath. You possess real intellect. In my world, that makes you more dangerous than an army."

He reached into his pocket and placed a sleek black smartphone on my desk.

"This is an encrypted satellite link. Only five people in the world have this direct frequency. If you see or suspect anything unusual, press the center key."

"Do you expect Harrison to retaliate?" I asked, my fingers brushing the smooth glass of the phone.

Roman’s expression hardened back into the ruthless billionaire who commanded three ocean fleets.

"Harrison has spent thirty years building an untouchable reputation. When a man like that realizes his empire is crumbling, he doesn't surrender gracefully. He burns the evidence."

Roman leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, his gaze unwavering.

"Which is why you will not be returning to your apartment in Ballard tonight."

I frowned. "Excuse me?"