Alexander's gaze lifted his eyes—dark, calm, unreadable—swept across the room until the air itself seemed to grow still.
"That," he said slowly, his voice even but cutting, "is not a coincidence."
The man from Veymont shifted in his seat, forcing a small, nervous smile. "Mr. Thorne, I assure you, this is purely accidental. We—our designers—might have drawn inspiration from similar trends. It happens in the industry—"
Alexander straightened slightly, his fingers tapping once against the table. The sound was soft but final, the kind that made every head turn toward him. "Trends," he repeated, his tone dry. "So now our private archives are trends?"
The representative's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Alexander turned the tablet toward the screen again. Two pendants—identical—gleamed side by side. The light caught the same engraving along the edge, the same hidden clasp mechanism. Details no outsider should ever know.
"Tell me," Alexander said quietly, "how your team managed to design an exact copy of a piece that exists only on our internal drives. No public releases. No showcases. Not even a whisper to clients."
The man from Veymont shifted, his collar tightening around his throat. "Mr. Thorne, I—I'll need to speak with my team. There must be some misunderstanding. We would never steal another company's work."
Alexander didn't blink. "Then you won't mind staying until this is cleared."
The man looked up quickly. "Excuse me?"
Alexander leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the table, voice quiet but unmistakably firm. "You'll remain here until my team finishes reviewing your files. If you're innocent, you have nothing to worry about."
A faint murmur went through the room. The representative swallowed, his confidence gone. "That's unnecessary—"
Alexander cut him off with a glance—cold, deliberate. "You may consider it unnecessary. I consider it procedure."
He turned toward Noah. "Send word to our legal department. Have them prepare a confidentiality statement for our guest here. He will sign it before he leaves this building."
"Yes, sir." Noah's voice was steady, but his movements were quick—almost too quick.
The man from Veymont began to protest again, but Alexander's tone dropped even lower, enough to silence the room. "If this truly is a coincidence," he said, "you'll have proof soon. Until then, you'll sit. Quietly."
The representative fell silent.
Alexander turned back toward the projection, studying the designs again. For a moment, no one spoke. The hum of the projector filled the air, the light flickering faintly across his sharp features. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes carried the kind of focus that made people hold their breath.
Finally, he exhaled quietly, setting the tablet down on the table. "Everyone in this room will cooperate fully," he said. "No delays. No excuses. The moment I find the source, it won't matter whether it came from inside this building or another—I will deal with it."
The last word hung heavy, cold, and final.
No one dared to respond.
The representative hesitated, his fingers twitching against the edge of the table. "Mr. Thorne," he began, his voice trembling slightly now, "please understand… we—we didn't know."
Alexander's eyes lifted, cold and steady. "Didn't know what?"
"That the design belonged to Thorne & Co.," the man said quickly, words tumbling out. "We received it through a private purchase. It was… offered to us months ago. We thought it was an open-source prototype—some freelancer's concept—"
Alexander's gaze hardened. "From whom?"
The man hesitated, his throat bobbing. "We… paid for it. Quietly. Through an intermediary."
"Name," Alexander said flatly.
The representative swallowed, looking around as if for help that wouldn't come. "I don't have it directly. The file came through a designer we sometimes contract. He said it was from someone inside Thorne & Co. — someone who wanted anonymity."
The room froze. Every designer turned pale, glancing at one another. Noah's pen stopped mid-motion.
Alexander leaned forward slightly, the faintest shift in posture that carried more weight than shouting ever could. "You're telling me," he said slowly, voice calm but sharp as glass, "that someone from my design team sold one of our prototypes to your company?"
The man nodded weakly. "I didn't know it was theft. I swear. We thought—"
"You thought wrong," Alexander cut in quietly.
He reached for the tablet again, pulling up the internal prototype records. His eyes scanned the metadata at the bottom of the file — timestamps, designer initials, edit logs — until something in the pattern made his jaw tighten.
"Who accessed the prototype file after March fifth?" he asked, voice low, still not looking up.
Noah was already moving. "Checking that now, sir."
The room was silent except for the soft tapping of Noah's tablet. A few seconds later, his voice broke the stillness. "One additional access, sir. From Design Terminal 4B."
Alexander looked up. "Who operates 4B?"
A pause. Then one of the senior designers — a woman with sharp features and shaking hands — spoke softly. "That's… that's under Kiera's station, sir. But she's been on leave the past month."
"On leave," Alexander repeated, voice devoid of expression. "And before that?"
The woman hesitated. "She worked late shifts alone most weeks. She said she was finalizing the spring collection."
Alexander's lips curved — not in amusement, but something colder. "Apparently she was finalizing more than that."
The representative from Veymont stood, his voice unsteady. "Mr. Thorne, please—we can settle this quietly. We'll withdraw the piece, cut it from our collection, and compensate your company for any—"
Alexander's hand came up slowly, silencing him. "You won't touch the design again. You'll send every file, sketch, and record tied to this transaction to my office within the hour. If you fail to do that, I'll make sure every partner you work with knows exactly what kind of company Veymont is."
The man nodded quickly, face pale. "Of course. Right away."
Alexander turned his attention back to Noah. "Find Kiera. Wherever she is. I want her in this office before noon. If she's unreachable, send a legal notice and lock her company access immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Alexander stood fully now, slipping the tablet under his arm. His gaze swept across the room — every designer, every executive — and the silence that followed was absolute.
"This company runs on trust," he said quietly. "And someone decided to sell it."
He took a step toward the representative, his tone calm but unmistakable. "You'll cooperate fully with our investigation. If you withhold anything — even by accident — I'll consider your company complicit."
The representative nodded again, quickly.
Alexander's voice softened, though the edge in it remained. "Good. Then we understand each other."
He turned back to his team. "Everyone else — I want full logs of every internal file access within the last three months. Every transfer, every message. If there's a trail, we'll find it."
"Yes, sir," the team murmured in unison.
Alexander didn't sit. He didn't raise his voice. He simply looked at the screen again, the stolen design still glowing faintly under the projector light. His jaw flexed once — restrained anger, not outburst — before he said, almost to himself:
"Someone thought they could sell me."
And the way he said it — quiet, precise — sent a chill through everyone present.
Then he turned to Noah. "Begin the trace. And tell legal to prepare for a theft case. If Kiera sold this design, she won't be hiding for long."
Noah nodded sharply, already tapping at his tablet.
The projector dimmed as Alexander switched it off, plunging the room into the low light of morning.