Chapter 39 #2
Next to me, Maksim growls at his insult but stays quiet.
I smirk at the dark-haired man before me, whose obvious dislike of his coworker and immediate distaste for me speak volumes about his character.
He is smart, for sure. Off the charts. But his background holds a large history of misogyny, and his current projects are somewhat lacking—as if a newbie is doing his workload on top of their own.
He has a history of having other people do his work, using his power over others to get ahead, and skimping out on his own duties.
When I pointed this out to Maksim this morning, he is livid at having missed the signs.
I can’t blame him, though; he is stretched thin.
The problem is that Matthias has his men trying to run both the criminal side and the legal side of the businesses.
It isn’t that they can’t do it—but this is how things like this slip through the holes.
“Travis Dorchester, born March 18, 1990,” I recite his information.
“Lived with his mother and father until two years ago when they finally kicked him out on his ass.” The man before me pales.
“Resigned from his last few jobs because he said they weren’t working out.
Only, come to find out, you were forced to resign due to complications with your coworkers—specifically of the female variety.
Making them do the work that was assigned to you.
Taking the credit where it didn’t belong.
Applied under the last name Crenshaw so that no one would put two and two together. ”
“I don’t—” He stutters, trying to come up with a believable lie. It isn’t going to work for me.
“You don’t what?” I ask, eyes narrowed at him. “Don’t know why you did it? Don’t know what I’m talking about? Don’t care?”
“What? No—”
I don’t let him finish. “Good,” I smile at him, condescension dripping from my tone, “because you have two options. I can either fire you, or you can take a pay cut and a demotion until you prove you can do the work on your own without the assistance of those around you.”
“What?” He jumps to his feet, the chair beneath him falling to the floor with a dull thud. “You can’t do that. You aren’t my boss!” His gaze slides over to Maksim in disbelief. “Are you really going to let her do this, man?”
Maksim raises his eyebrows, shoulders shrugging, mouth tugged downward.
“Sit back down,” Maksim orders. Travis immediately obeys, straightening his chair before he takes a seat. “I’m not the boss here.” Maksim jerks his head toward me. “She is.”
Everyone in the room sits straighter in their chairs—everyone except Travis, who stares at me with his mouth open in shock.
“For those of you in this room who don’t know who I am,” I say, addressing the entire room, my head high, “my name is Ava Dashkov, and from here on, I am the CEO of Arctic Security and Associates. That means you all answer to me. Anyone got a problem with that?”
Everyone but Travis the bigot shakes their heads.
Inclining my head, I look him over. The way his eyes shift nervously, the sweat clinging to his brow.
He is nervous—but about what? Getting found out?
The embarrassment I caused him? Or something deeper?
We have a mole in the division somewhere.
Only a handful of people at Arctic know about the detonation sequence, and most of them are in this room.
Which is why it is time to set up the game.
“We have a mole in one of the departments,” I tell them.
“Someone with access to classified information on the construction of the Dashkov Building leaked the codes and blueprints to our enemies. They hacked into the mainframe of the building and downloaded a code-sensitive virus that triggered the building’s self-destruct. ”
“That shouldn’t even be possible.” One of the analysts speaks up.
Sam, I believe his name is. He is a promising analyst who once worked with the CIA before they burned him.
“The self-destruct sequence is on its own separate server. To download a virus, you must be directly linked to the server as a hardline. You can’t do it remotely. ”
“Exactly,” I smirk at him. “And the only people who have direct access to the servers are in this building.”
“Including us,” Travis points out. “Are you accusing one of us of sabotage?”
“No,” I tell him honestly. “I’m accusing you of murder and espionage.”
A terrified silence falls over the room. They are each waiting for the gavel to come down on them—but it won’t. Not yet.
“Your job is to find me the mole.” My gaze sweeps over each of them, taking in every minute facial expression. They all twitch nervously. Hands twisting in their laps. Chests rising and falling rapidly. All signs of anxiety—but not necessarily guilt.
Yet.
“Mr. Crenshaw. Or Dorchester. Or whatever you’re called.” The analyst clenches his jaw but keeps quiet. “You’ve got janitor duty for the next month. Then we’ll talk.”
“Are you kidding me?” he asks incredulously. “A janitor? What is that supposed to do?”
I smirk. “Teach you some humility.” I shrug nonchalantly. “Also, good luck trying to get those men to do your work for you. They’re some mean bastards.” I point toward the door. “You can start now. Your access to this floor will be restricted. Have fun.”
The room snickers quietly when he all but storms out, slamming the heavy door behind him.
“I’ll make sure his access is revoked,” Sam tells me.
I smile at him and nod before turning to leave.
“Um, ma’am.” Clove raises her hand nervously from her station. I turn back toward her.
“Ava is fine, Clove,” I tell her. “I’m not big on titles or formalities.” Plus, being called ma’am by someone my age makes me feel old.
She clears her throat and bites her lip before nodding at her computer screen. “You might want to see this.” There is a guilty look on her face, as if she has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
I walk past the analysts at the head of the table and stop when I reach her.
“Travis had me monitoring his floor today, which is the main office between Arctic and the associates,” she rambles quickly. “None of the offices have cameras, but the hallways, stairwells, and elevators do.”
She points at her laptop screen, where the security footage shows Matthias coming out of the elevator with a woman on his arm.
He isn’t smiling. In fact, he looks downright pissed.
The woman has his arm wrapped in both of hers, a dewy smile on her face as she stares up at him.
She is wearing a contoured body dress and fuck-me heels.
Serena.
That bitch.
Matthias telling me why he took Serena to the gala doesn’t ease the betrayal I felt that night.
He did it to get information about his mother’s grave, since her father was the one who buried her that night on Kirill’s orders.
In return, he promised to pay off the suitor her father lined up for her.
I am not sure who he is, but he doesn’t sound pleasant.
He wanted Serena as his fourth wife.
I am afraid to ask what happened to his other three.
Matthias tells me he terminated things with her after that night, but she has been trying to get him alone since she found out he returned—telling him their deal isn’t fulfilled.
Bitch doesn’t know how to take a hint.
“Get me everything you have on her and send it to my tablet,” I order, my voice rougher than I intend. “Please,” I amend softly.
Clove nods, fingers flying across the keyboard lightning fast.
Snarling, I stalk toward the door and wait for Maksim to open it since I don’t have a passcode yet.
“Where are you going?” he asks, frowning as I storm down the hallway toward the elevator.
“To skin a bitch.”