Chapter 8
Riley's fingers trembled as she spread the manifest copies across her father's mahogany desk.
The numbers that had kept her awake for three nights were swimming before her eyes.
The discrepancies were small, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for, but they were there.
Rare earth minerals listed on the Bolivia shipping manifests didn't match the extraction reports from the Indonesian operations.
Someone was moving product off the books.
"Dad, if you look at these figures—"
"Riley." Harlan Shoemaker didn't even glance up from his computer screen, his thick fingers continuing to pound at the keyboard with surprising speed for a man his size. "I don't have time for your treasure hunts."
Heat flushed her cheeks. After a year of rebuilding and proving herself, she was still summarily dismissed.
While healing, she’d asked him for something to do—to prove not only to herself she was still capable of continuing to do the job but also to prove to him she was someone he needed in his company.
Six months of meticulous work, of verifying compliance across two countries.
She’d ensured every ESG deliverable met international standards and documented sustainability practices.
She’d enhanced her father's company's reputation one audit at a time.
Yet he dismissed her like she was still the broken woman Guardian had pulled from that cargo hold.
"This isn't a treasure hunt. These are real discrepancies that could—"
"Could what?" Harlan finally looked up, his steel-blue eyes cold and calculating.
"If there actually was an anomaly, and we admitted to it, what would happen? I’ll tell you.
It could cost us the Sahel contract. It could ruin our reputation with the African Development Bank.
" He leaned back in his leather chair, the springs groaning under his weight.
“But, Dad, it wouldn’t do that if we investigate and admit there is an issue. Honesty always wins.”
“Bullshit. What you’ve discovered is minuscule and a standard loss calculation when dealing with such bulk.
What’s the real reason for this show and tell?
” His eyes narrowed. “Are you looking for problems where none exist because you're too scared to take on real responsibility of going to the Sahel again? Are you afraid?"
The words hit like a physical blow. Riley's hand instinctively moved to her throat, where the faint scar from the time she was taken still marked her skin.
She'd worked so hard to move past the fear, to prove she could handle fieldwork again.
The Sahel region project was hers; it always had been.
She needed to oversee the rare earth mineral extraction operations across Mali, Niger, Burkina Faso, and Burundu.
This role represented everything she'd been fighting for.
It was her chance to prove she could face her demons, could be the leader her father needed her to be.
And Talon was there. The thought of seeing him again … of finally bridging the gap between their daily text conversations and reality, had sustained her through the lonely nights and endless work to recover.
"I'm not imagining anything," she said, forcing steel into her voice. "The numbers don't lie."
Harlan's laugh was harsh and humorless. "Numbers don't lie, but people do.
People see what they want to see, especially when they're looking for excuses to avoid facing their fears.
" He stood, his imposing frame casting a shadow across the desk.
"You think I don't know what really happened on that boat, Riley?
You think I don't know what those animals did to you? "
The room tilted. Riley gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles white against the dark wood. The carefully constructed walls she'd built around that night crumbled in an instant, leaving her exposed and raw.
"How—" The word came out as barely a whisper.
"How do I know?" Harlan's smile was cruel. "Sweetheart, nothing happens in my world that I don't know about. Did you really think a few therapy sessions would keep your secrets safe from me?"
"Dr. Barnette promised—" Riley's voice cracked. "She said everything was confidential. She said you couldn't access—"
"Access what? Medical records?" Harlan waved a dismissive hand. "I don't need to access anything when I have eyes and ears everywhere."
Shame flooded through her, hot and suffocating.
"That was—"
"That was my right to know," Harlan continued, his voice matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather. “My business, my right.”
The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound. Not Dr. Barnette. She'd been Riley's lifeline. The person who'd helped her claw her way back from the brink. She believed the woman when she’d said everything was private between them and nothing could be released without her permission.
"So, you see," Harlan said, settling back into his chair, "I know exactly what you've been through.
I know exactly how broken you still are.
And if you can't handle a simple audit without seeing conspiracies, how can I trust you to represent this company in one of the most dangerous regions in the world? "
Riley's phone buzzed against the desk—a text from Talon, probably his usual good morning message from eight time zones away.
"It is dangerous, and despite what happened to me, I'm not broken," she said, though the words felt hollow. “You can believe me or have this report validated. I don’t care. I’m not lying or seeing conspiracies. This work is my life.”
"No doubt." Harlan tilted his head, studying her like a specimen under a microscope.
"You're twenty-eight years old, and you haven't had a real relationship.
You spend your nights alone rather than building meaningful human connections.
You jump at shadows and see threats where none exist." He gestured at the scattered manifests. "Like these imaginary discrepancies."
Each word was a calculated strike, designed to find and exploit every insecurity she'd confided to Dr. Barnette in the safety of her office. Riley felt herself shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller under his gaze.
"The Sahel base contract is worth two hundred million dollars," Harlan continued.
"It's our entry point into African markets, our chance to prove we're not just another American corporation exploiting local resources. I need someone strong leading the compliance arm of this operation. Someone who won't crumble at the first sign of adversity. I don’t think that’s you. "
"I won't crumble." The words came out stronger than she felt. “I am the only person for that job.”
"Prove it." Harlan leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "Stop chasing ghosts in spreadsheets and show me you can handle real responsibility. The team leaves for Burundu in two weeks. If you can't let go of these paranoid fantasies about missing minerals, you'll be staying home."
Riley stared at the manifests scattered across the desk, the numbers blurring through her tears.
She'd been so sure, so confident in her analysis.
But doubt crept in, insidious and poisonous.
What if she were seeing patterns that weren't there?
What if her trauma had made her paranoid, suspicious of shadows?
"I—" She stopped, swallowing hard. "I need to make a phone call."
Harlan waved her away. "Make all the calls you want. But understand this—if you want to prove you're ready for the Sahel, you'll drop this witch hunt and focus on preparing for real leadership."
Riley gathered the manifests with shaking hands, her father's words echoing in her head. As she reached the door, she turned back.
"How long have you known? About what happened on the boat?"
Harlan's expression softened for just a moment, and Riley thought she caught a glimpse of something that might have been genuine concern. But she blinked and mentally shook her head. No, he didn’t care. He was acting. It was obvious and regretful, but it was the truth.
"That isn’t the question that needs to be answered," he said quietly. "The question is—when are you going to step up and be the daughter I need you to be?” Harlan turned back to his computer and ignored her.
Twenty minutes later, Riley sat in her car in the parking garage, her hands still shaking as she dialed Dr. Barnette's number. The phone rang twice before the familiar, warm voice answered.
"Riley? This is unexpected. Is everything alright?"
"Dr. Barnette, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth." Riley's voice was steadier than she felt. "Has anyone contacted you about my case? Has anyone tried to access my records or get information about our sessions?"
The silence stretched long enough that Riley wondered if the call had dropped.
"Riley, you know I would never—"
"That's not what I'm asking." Riley closed her eyes, forcing herself to stay calm. "I'm asking if anyone has tried. My father knows things, specific things we've discussed."
"No one has contacted me," Dr. Barnette said firmly. "And no one has access to your records except you and me. Patient confidentiality isn't just a guideline, Riley, it's the law. I could lose my license if I disclosed anything from our sessions."
"Then how?"
"I don't know. There was a breach of our system, but my IT people told me nothing was accessed." Dr. Barnette's voice was gentle but troubled. "But I think you need to come in. We should talk about this face-to-face."
Riley ended the call and sat in the concrete silence of the parking garage, surrounded by the ghosts of her father's words. The manifests lay on the passenger seat beside her, the numbers that had seemed so clear that morning now swimming in a sea of self-doubt.
Her phone buzzed with another text.
Talon: Wishing you a good morning. Hope your meeting with your dad goes well. Can't wait to see you in a couple of weeks.
She stared at the message, her heart clenching. In two weeks, she could be in Burundu. She could see Talon again, could finally close the distance that had defined their relationship for a year. She could prove to herself and her father that she was strong enough to face her past.
Or she could stay here, under her father’s thumb.
She glanced at the manifests. The numbers were real and correct.
Not that her father cared. Acceptable losses.
They weren’t. Any loss of rare earth materials was supposed to be reported, tracked, and the host government notified immediately.
But to see Talon, she had to let go of the numbers that didn't add up, the patterns her father insisted existed only in her traumatized mind.
All she had to do was trust that her father knew best, that her judgment couldn't be trusted.
Riley looked at the manifests again, then at Talon's message. The choice felt impossible, suspended between her desperate need for her father's approval and the growing certainty that something was very, very wrong. Finally, she responded.
Riley: Meeting went as expected. Can't wait to see you, too.
But as she started the car and pulled out of the garage, Riley couldn't shake the feeling that she was driving away from more than just her father's building. She was driving away from the truth, from her own instincts, from the person she'd fought so hard to become.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that her father's knowledge of her trauma wasn't the only secret he was keeping. Her suspicions grew darker. What if it wasn’t just the small amounts of minerals involved in the Bolivia and Indonesia contracts? She gripped the steering wheel tighter. Her father thought she was looking for conspiracies. Well, maybe that should be her focus. She would talk to Dr. Barnette, then she would head back to her father’s house and plan a course of action that would either vindicate her or estrange her from her father for the rest of her life.