Chapter 27
The coffee beside me had long gone cold.
I sat at the head of the glass conference table, back straight, Catherine at my right, the CFO to my left.
Across from me, the finance team flipped through binders, their charts projected across the screen—rows of red bleeding through what should have been a seamless profit curve.
"Embezzlement on this scale doesn't happen overnight," the CFO said grimly, adjusting his glasses as figures scrolled past. "We traced the siphoning over eighteen months. Small transfers. Quiet. Always buried under acquisitions."
My jaw tightened. "And no one flagged it?"
A senior accountant cleared her throat. "The shell accounts looked legitimate—third-party consultants tied to our expansion projects. On paper, it was airtight."
I tugged at my sleeve, eyes flicking to the next slide as the projection shifted.
The table laid everything bare: month-by-month transfers, percentage growth, the supposed "discount factors," the present value lost. If even half of it had been channeled back into operations, we wouldn't be staring at a profit loss.
Total siphoned amount: €107,061,560,000.
Net profit value lost: €100,445,570,000.
My gaze lingered on the numbers. Each extraction aligned almost too perfectly with exponential growth—no mistakes, no randomness. I caught it, the subtle rhythm where deviations were corrected the following month, a precise balancing act designed to stay invisible.
The CFO cleared his throat. "As you can see, Ms. Aurora, the siphoning follows a deliberate pattern. Monthly growth averages two percent. Cumulative losses: 5.95% of projected revenue. The NPV confirms this wasn't sloppy theft—it was engineered."
He hesitated before adding, "Paired with nearly fifty percent of our investors withdrawing, this scheme almost drove us into insolvency... until Duvall Capital Group intervened."
My eyes lingered on the subtle dip in months seven and fourteen—minor deviations, quickly corrected.
A delicate balance between greed and concealment.
I sighed, pulling out my own notepad. Recalculating cumulative growth.
Mapping anomalies. Drawing arrows to connect them.
The numbers... they weren't random. They were beginning to form a story.
A deliberate orchestration behind the chaos infecting my company.
But why, Monsieur Bianchi? Why would you do it?
My gaze darted back to the finance team. Unease rippled through the room, silence pressing down like a weight. Then, from the corner, a voice. One of the junior accountants—barely out of university, fingers twisting a pen nervously—spoke without raising his eyes.
"It's almost... elegant," he muttered.
When he finally glanced up, his face flushed as the entire room turned toward him.
"I mean... the way the money was hidden, funneled.
It doesn't feel like fraud born of desperation, not like what Monsieur Bianchi claims. It feels.
.. calculated. Like strategy. Someone rewriting the rules from the inside. A capital game."
My fingers stilled against the table. Slowly, I tilted my head, studying him with sharpened curiosity. Capital game... capital strategy...
Beside me, Catherine scribbled furiously in her notebook, but I never looked away from the boy. The phrasing was too exact to be careless. Too revealing to be innocent.
The CFO cleared his throat sharply. "Speculation isn't part of your report, Jules. Stick to the numbers."
"No," I cut in, my eyes on Jules. "Go on." My tone was quiet, coaxing. Commanding.
He swallowed, shifting under the weight of attention. "It doesn't look random, Ms. Aurora. It looks like a pattern. Like someone wanted to teach the system a lesson."
I leaned forward, pointing at him. "Explain. Walk me through why you say that."
Jules hesitated, then steadied himself, fixing his gaze on mine. "It's the exponential growth. The NPV alignment. You don't stumble into that by accident. Whoever did this knew exactly how to manipulate the numbers without triggering alarms. It's like a chessboard."
He exhaled, the pen trembling between his fingers. "But the cash... there's no record for it. It's as if someone engineered this meticulously—yet still left a breadcrumb behind."
Breadcrumb. That simple word lodged itself in my mind, sparking a dangerous curiosity. Tapping my pen against the notepad, I began listing every cash flow I could recall from the past eighteen months.
"Show me the shell account," I instructed Catherine.
She pulled up the record: a single wire transfer—€75,000,000—clean, precise, funneled through an unremarkable corporate entity.
My pulse quickened. Bianchi must be working with someone who knows how to siphon funds with elegance—leaving just enough of a trail to be found, but never enough to be pinned down.
But the transfer itself wasn't what worried me. What haunted me was the unaccounted cash—the amounts that had vanished without a trace. How much had slipped through unseen? Who had the authority, the access, and the audacity to erase money so cleanly?
"Keep tracking all remaining accounts," I ordered, my voice sharper than I intended. "Every anomaly, every deviation. I want every missing transaction mapped. Someone thinks they're untouchable, but we'll find them. Monsieur Bianchi may be tight-lipped for now, but his silence won't last."
My gaze shifted to Jules. I tapped my pen in his direction. "If you notice anything—anything at all—you report it to the CFO immediately." Then, to the CFO: "I expect progress on those missing amounts, and I want updates on my desk. No delays."
The weight in the room grew heavy. Sighing, I pushed back my chair and stood. "Meeting adjourned. Thank you, everyone." I gathered my files, tucking the pen into my blazer, and left the boardroom.
The hallway was mercifully quiet. I stopped against a blank wall, rubbing at my temple as a sharp ache throbbed behind my eyes.
"Ro?"
I froze, the sound of her voice easing something inside me. Looking up, I found Sloane just a few feet away.
"Sloey?" My voice softened as I stepped closer. "Hey... I didn't know you'd be here."
I leaned in, brushing a kiss against her cheek. She smiled, her hand gently patting mine where it lingered on her face.
"Well, I was nearby. Figured I'd give you a visit," she said, studying me. "Just finished another round of meetings?"
"Yeah." I slid an arm around her waist as we walked toward my office. "It's draining, honestly. Talking numbers all day wears you down." A dry laugh escaped me.
Her brows knit slightly. "Why? What's going on with your financials?" she asked as I opened my office door and guided her inside.
"Nothing's wrong," I said, setting my things on the desk before leading her to the couch. I sank into the corner while she settled beside me. "We're just reviewing everything from the start of the embezzlement," I mumbled, leaning back and letting my head fall against the cushion.
Sloane hummed, making me glance at her. She crossed her arms over her chest, one leg hooked elegantly over the other. "Normally, embezzled funds can't be recovered," she said. "Most of the money gets moved into shell accounts as cash. It's rarely a direct transfer from one account to another."
I tilted my head. "That's true, but we're talking about billions. What we've traced so far is only in the tens of millions. What about the rest of the missing funds?"
"Ro, money like that can't just sit in a vault," she said. "Billions could fill an entire bedroom. More often it's layered into banks in smaller amounts, disguised as ordinary transactions."
She studied me. "Why are you still tormenting yourself over this? Everything's going smoothly, isn't it? You've already pushed past breakeven."
I sighed and rested my head on her shoulder. "It's just... billions could've helped expand the company, given people space to work, a chance to breathe. Instead, it's gone. And if we compare our current gains to what we lost? We're still in the red. We can't rehire everyone we laid off."
I straightened, meeting her eyes. "Maybe I should sell one of my houses. It's worth billions—I could put it back in as an additional investment."
Clicking her tongue, Sloane cupped my cheeks. "Easy. Think it through, Ro. You're rushing again," she said, shaking her head.
"I just..." My breath caught, heavy in my chest. "I just don't want my people buried by this stress. Even if we pass breakeven and bring in more investors, it doesn't change the truth—we lost a fortune in potential capital gains, in returns we'll never get back."
?·???°???°???·?
While speaking with the director of the facility, I felt a gentle tug at the cuff of my suit. My gaze dropped to a small boy pulling at me, his wide eyes trying to capture my attention. I blinked, then smiled, patting his head.
"I'm so sorry, Ms. Aurora. I'll get to—"
"No, no, it's fine," I cut in softly, waving the director's concern away. Crouching down, I scooped the boy into my arms. "I'll excuse myself for a while, director. If anything else is needed—food, supplies, whatever—my secretary will assist you."
I turned to Celeste, who gave me a subtle nod of acknowledgment. With a polite smile to the director, I carried the boy toward the large playpen set up by the foundation for the children with terminal illnesses.
"Now," I said, smiling as his tiny fingers brushed against my cheek, "where do you want to go, little one?"
Inside the playpen, I gently set him down. "Wait for me, alright?" I told him, then slipped off my blazer, folding it neatly over the backrest of a nearby chair. I shrugged out of my vest and hung it on top.
Glancing at the table, I searched for a rubber band but found none. With a quiet sigh, I loosened my tie and used it to pull my hair up into a high ponytail. My sleeves were rolled, the top two buttons of my shirt undone, and I slid off my shoes, tucking them under the chair.
"Let's go?" I bent slightly, offering him my hand. His giggle was bright as he tugged me toward the half-built Lego castle.
I chuckled, adjusting my pants before settling cross-legged on the padded mat. "Come here," I said, patting my lap. I helped him climb onto my legs, steadying him.
He picked up a Lego block and handed it to me. I smiled, took it carefully from his small hand, and studied the castle, searching for where it belonged.
Around me, the soft hum of monitors blended with the laughter of children too fragile to run outside.
Their joy clung to the sterile air like sunlight breaking through clouds.
The little boy and I were so absorbed in the Lego castle we were building that I didn't notice when the others began gathering around us.
One by one, they joined in, small hands reaching for bricks, laughter weaving around me.
I smiled, my chest loosening as I looked at them.
This wasn't the boardroom or the office that defined my life, but somehow, this was where I felt most alive.
The facility bore my quiet fingerprints everywhere—bookshelves I'd donated, murals painted by artists I had commissioned, even the kitchen designed to soothe chemo patients' stomachs.
For twelve years, I had kept this hidden, visiting whenever I could.
It was the one place where my empire did not define me.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I hesitated, torn, before pulling it out. The children giggled as they argued over towers and walls, their laughter pulling at me, softening me.
"Keep going," I encouraged, smiling as I answered. I already knew who was calling.
Sloane.
"Where the hell are you?" Her voice hit me before I could speak—sharp, a knife-edge between irritation and worry. "I went to your office. Empty. No assistant. No schedule that you'd be anywhere else. And you left the house for hours."
I exhaled quietly, watching the boy perched on my lap set the last Lego piece in place with triumphant pride. I smiled, nodding as I patted his head. "I'm... visiting," I murmured, almost to myself.
"Visiting?" she echoed, suspicion lacing the word. "What does that even mean?"
"Come here, Sol," I said instead, my voice low. "If you want to know, come and see."
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of her uneven breathing. Then a chuckle, soft, reluctant. "You're impossible," she muttered. "Send me the address."
I smiled, typing out the address and sending it to her.
"Already done," I said softly, glancing at the children.
"And Sol—" I paused as their small bodies pressed closer, eyes wide and trusting, vying for my attention.
I lifted a finger to my lips, smiling. "Don't come with your boardroom armor, please. Not here."
When the call ended, I slid my phone back into my pocket and turned to them again, my chest lightening. I couldn't help but picture Sloane's expression when she finally walked through that door.
We played until laughter filled the room—me tossing a rubber ball, pretending to stumble on the mat, letting them swarm me with squeals of joy. They didn't know how limited their time was, but in their giggles, there was only life.
A sigh escaped me as I finally collapsed sideways on the rubber mat, stretching my arm out. The smallest boy—the quiet one who had never strayed from my side—curled against me, resting his tiny head on my arm as though it were a pillow.
He shifted, pale face tilting up toward mine with a fragile smile. My throat tightened when his hand brushed my cheek. He snuggled closer, tucking himself against my neck, and I froze before instinctively wrapping my arms around him.
One by one, the others gathered too, laying against me in a cluster of warmth—small backs pressed to my legs and stomach, tiny fingers threading through my hair, soft lips pressing kisses to my forehead. Their giggles were feather-light, but each one weighed heavy on my heart.
I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep among them until voices stirred me—an animated tone, followed by bright giggles. Blinking groggily, I turned and found the little boy was gone from my side. My confusion deepened when I noticed my blazer draped across me like a makeshift blanket.
Shifting my position, I froze when I noticed Sloane seated just a few steps away on the rubber mat. The little boy—the same one who had clung to me earlier—was perched comfortably on her lap. Around them, the other children sat in a circle, their eyes wide and eager.
Sloane held a storybook open, her voice rising and falling with each line, slipping into different tones as if she herself were the characters. Her hands moved animatedly, painting the scenes in the air.
"Damn," I murmured under my breath, unable to hide my smile. "My wife's good with children."
Leaning back on my hands for support, I let my gaze linger on her face, mesmerized by how naturally she slipped into this world.
"The end," Sloane announced with a flourish. The children clapped and giggled, the boy in her lap laughing along with the rest.
One little girl got to her feet, toddling over to take the book from Sloane's hands before carefully returning it to the nearby shelf. When Sloane's eyes found mine, she smiled—a calm, proud smile that tightened something deep in my chest.
She rose with the boy still in her arms, then gently set him down before coming to sit beside me. "You're finally awake," she teased softly. Her gaze swept over the room. "I didn't know you had this facility."
A chuckle slipped past my lips as I exhaled.
"This started twelve years ago," I murmured, watching the children return to their toys and games.
"I kept thinking... if it's hard enough for adults to deal with terminal illness, how much harder is it for children?
" A faint smile curved my lips, though it wavered at the edges.
I swallowed and looked at Sloane, words thick in my throat.
"They're just innocent souls who don't know how long they'll have in this world.
" My hand reached for the boy's soft hair, tousling it gently.
"That's why I decided to build this place.
.. created an NGO, partnered with AMADE. To give them something."
Sloane's expression softened as she took my free hand in hers. "It must be hard, carrying all of this," she whispered. "And it must've brought back the pain of losing someone dear to you... someone who went through the same thing."
Her words made me stiffen. Slowly, I turned to meet her gaze. She offered me a faint, almost fragile smile.
"I was there," she whispered. "At Auntie's burial."
"What...?" The word slipped out of me, breathless, as if the air had been knocked from my lungs. How could she—how would she know that?
Her smile deepened, tinged with sorrow. She lifted her hand to my face, brushing her fingers gently against my cheek.
"I didn't come close. I just stood from afar, far enough to see everything, close enough to remember.
I figured you wouldn't want to see me...
maybe you'd even push me away. So I stayed back. "
A knot tightened in my throat, making it hard to swallow. My chest ached, squeezed too tightly, the old wound splitting open at the edges.
"I..." I faltered, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the tremor in my voice.
Sloane tilted her head, her voice softening. "Maybe that's why you built this place. To give support to those who need it. To show your mother, even if she isn't here anymore, that you still carry her memory."
My jaw clenched. No, Sol. It wasn't for my mother. The words burned inside me, but I kept them there, buried. Forcing a laugh, I exhaled sharply. "You could say that," I lied, letting my eyes drift to the little boy curled against us.
"Do you want to bring him home?" Sloane asked suddenly.
Her question caught me off guard. I blinked at her before letting out a soft chuckle.
"No, not that." I lifted the boy into my arms, his small body weightless, his face unbearably innocent.
"He has parents, Sloey. He's just not allowed to leave the facility—his body's too fragile.
The doctors..." My voice cracked, and I lowered it to a near whisper. "They said he won't last long."
I set him gently back down, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.
My lips curved into a proud smile despite the heaviness in my chest. "But he's a fighter.
He's already outlived the timeline they gave him.
" I gestured toward the other children nearby, their laughter filling the sterile room with fleeting joy.
"And the rest of them... they're just like him.
Fighting every single day, never knowing when their bodies will finally give up and surrender to all the medicine keeping them alive. "
Sloane paused, her gaze softening on the little boy who beamed at us. "It's devastating for the parents to see their children like this," she murmured, hugging her knees as she reached out to gently poke his nose. His giggle broke the heaviness of her words.
I hummed in quiet agreement, my lips curving into a faint smile. "Yeah... it really is devastating for them."
Shifting, she sat up straighter and turned toward me, her eyes carrying a spark of something brighter. "Our first wedding anniversary is coming up. Maybe we could celebrate it here?" Her smile lingered, warm and tentative.
I blinked, raising a brow. "Here? Are you sure?"
She nodded without hesitation, her grin widening. "Yes. We can spend it here with them, and afterward, if you'd like, we can have a dinner date. Just the two of us." She hesitated, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Besides... I want to tell you something important."
Intrigued, I tilted my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Now you've caught my attention. What's this important thing you're keeping from me?"
Sloane laughed softly and reached out to pinch my cheeks, making me groan at the playful pressure. "That," she teased, "you'll have to wait for until our anniversary."