LAYLA’S POV
O’BRIEN TOWER, 8:00 PM
The boardroom felt like a ghost of what it used to be. The windows were boarded up with plywood, and yellow caution tape hung loosely around the edges.
Dim light from the city seeped in through the cracks, barely illuminating the long mahogany table, which was covered in a thin layer of dust from the explosion.
The lingering sll of smoke filled the air, creating a heavy atmosphere, which was a perfect backdrop for what I was about to do.
Perfect.
Tye and his team were hidden in the shadows: two in the adjoining conference room and one in the executive hallway, all ard and listening through comms.
But I stood alone at the head of the table, wearing a simple black dress that looked appropriate for mourning. My hair was pulled back, and I had no makeup except smudged mascara that made look like I’d been crying for hours.
The elevator dinged, and footsteps approached; then the door opened.
Henry Porter walked in, dressed in a suit; his hair was perfectly styled, and he carried a leather briefcase that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.
"Layla," Henry said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I ca as soon as I got your call. How is Axel?"
"Stable," I said quietly, wringing my hands. "The doctors say it’ll be months before he can walk again. Maybe longer."
"I’m so sorry," Henry said, setting his briefcase on the table. "This has been a tragedy for all of us. But you did the right thing, calling . You shouldn’t have to shoulder this burden alone."
"I can’t do this, Henry," I said, my voice breaking perfectly on cue. "I thought I could. I thought I was strong enough. But the Cartel... they’re threatening to blow up another building. They want ninety million dollars, and I don’t know where to find it. I don’t know what to do."
Henry’s eyes glead. He pulled out a stack of papers from his briefcase.
"That’s why I’m here," he said gently, sliding the docunts across the table toward . "These are temporary transfer papers. They’ll give emergency CEO powers until Axel recovers. I’ll handle the Board... everything. You just focus on your husband."
"You can really fix this?" I asked, staring at the papers.
"Of course," Henry said smoothly. "I’ve dealt with rough elents before. The Cartel is just another business negotiation. They want money? I’ll find a way to respond. They want blood? I’ll give them soone to bla. This is a man’s job, Layla. No offence, but dealing with people like this requires a certain... touch."
I picked up the pen with shaking fingers.
"You’ll take care of the company?" I whispered.
"I’ll take good care of it," Henry promised. "I’ll protect everything Axel built. You have my word."
I bent over the papers, the pen hovering over the signature line.
Then I heard the elevator again, followed by multiple sets of footsteps.
Henry frowned, turning toward the door. "Who else did you..."
The boardroom door opened.
Marco Sinaloa walked in, flanked by a single silent guard who looked like he could break a man in half with his bare hands. Marco had a businesslike expression and was dressed in a fitted suit.
"Good evening, Mrs. O’Brien," Marco greeted with his smooth accent. "You said you had sothing for me."
Henry’s face went white. "What the hell is he doing here?"
I straightened up, setting the pen down carefully. The trembling in my hands stopped. The tears dried. The broken widow vanished.
"Hello, Marco," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Thank you for coming. I believe you two already know each other... or at least should."
"What is this?" Henry demanded, looking between us. "Layla, what are you doing?"
"I’m introducing you to your business partner," I said sweetly. "Marco, meet Henry Porter, our strategic partner and consultant. Henry, this is Marco Sinaloa. But I think you already know that, don’t you?"
Marco’s eyes narrowed, studying Henry with predatory interest.
I walked to the head of the table and pressed a button. The projector humd to life, casting light across the boarded-up wall.
"Let show you sothing interesting," I said.
The first slide appeared: a transaction log.
"This is ninety million dollars," I said, using a laser pointer. "It left Sinaloa Imports six months ago. Marco, you rember this transaction, don’t you? You were trying to do your business as usual, washing funds to avoid suspicions."
Marco said nothing, but his jaw tightened.
"The money was supposed to be cleaned and returned to your accounts," I continued. "But sothing strange happened. It never ca back."
The next slide: a web of shell companies.
"Instead, it went here. And here. And here," I said, tracking the laser pointer across the screen. "Through six different shell companies, all registered to offshore accounts. And where did it finally land?"
The final slide: bank statents with Henry’s na.
"Henry Porter’s private accounts," I said. "Not O’Brien accounts, not Eclipse Beauty, not my account or Axel’s, but his," I said, pointing to Henry. "His personal holdings."
The room went silent.
Marco turned to look at Henry, and the temperature dropped twenty degrees.
"You stole from ," Marco said quietly.
"No! No, that’s... that’s a clerical error!" Henry stamred, backing away from the table.
"The documents are all here," I said, holding up the hard drive. "Bank transfers. Shell company registrations. Offshore account numbers. Everything. You stole ninety million dollars from the Sinaloa Cartel and tried to fra and my husband for it."
"You can’t prove..."
"I just did," I said coldly.
Marco stood up slowly, his hand moving to his jacket.
"Wait!" Henry shouted, stumbling backwards. "I can pay you back! I still have most of it! Seventy million! I can wire it tonight!"
"Seventy?" Marco asked softly. "What happened to the other twenty?"
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it.
"You spent twenty million of my money?" Marco asked with a deadly calm.
"Marco, please. Let’s talk about this. We can make a deal..."
"I don’t make deals with thieves," Marco said, pulling out his phone. He spoke rapidly in Spanish to soone on the other end, never taking his eyes off Henry.
"I can tell you who has the rest of the money."
That got Marco’s attention. "Who?" he asked.
"Charles. Charles Watson."
Reviews
All reviews (0)