The elevator to the 99th floor of Blackwood Tower was silent, fast, and smelled of ozone.
Elena Vance stood next to Julian. She wore a pristine white suit that cost more than her ex-boyfriend's car. Her hair was pulled back in a severe, elegant bun, and her gold-rimmed glasses hid eyes that were currently processing millions of data points.
"Nervous?" Julian asked, not looking at her. He was fixing his cufflinks.
"I don't get nervous, Mr. Blackwood," Elena replied, checking her reflection in the steel doors. "I get accurate."
Ding.
The doors slid open. The Blackwood Industries boardroom was a cavern of glass and mahogany. Sitting around the thirty-foot table were twelve men. They were old, rich, and radiated the kind of arrogance that comes from never being told "no."
When Julian walked in, they straightened up. When Elena walked in, they frowned.
"Julian," a heavy-set man at the head of the table spoke up. This was Frank Miller, the VP of Sales. He had a face like a bulldog and a reputation for sexual harassment that HR had buried for decades. "Who is the skirt? Did you bring a new secretary?"
The room chuckled. Low, condescending laughter.
Elena didn't flinch. She walked to the empty chair at Julian's right hand—the seat reserved for the Second-in-Command.
She pulled it out and sat down.
"I'm not a secretary, Mr. Miller," Elena said, her voice projecting clearly without a microphone. "I'm the person who decides if you keep your pension."
Frank's face turned red. "Excuse me?"
Julian sat down at the head of the table, leaning back with a bored expression. He picked up a green apple from a fruit bowl and began to toss it.
"This is Elena Vance," Julian announced lazily. "My new Chief Strategy Officer. She has full authority to audit, hire, and fire anyone in this room. Proceed."
Frank slammed his hand on the table. "This is ridiculous! She's a nobody! A fired HR manager from a failing startup! I won't be audited by a woman who—"
"Mr. Miller," Elena cut him off. She opened her laptop. "Let's talk about the 'Brazil Expansion Project'."
The room went deadly silent.
Elena tapped a key. Her Data Eye overlaid the room with red warning signs. [TARGET: Frank Miller]
Official Salary: $800,000.
Actual Income: $4.2 Million.
Source of Discrepancy: Kickbacks from construction vendors in Rio de Janeiro.
Risk Level: IMMEDIATE TERMINATION.
"In Q3," Elena read from the screen, "you approved a $5 million invoice for 'Consulting Fees' to a company called Rio Sol. Interesting name."
Frank was sweating now. "That... that was a legitimate expense! Market research!"
"Really?" Elena looked up, her gaze piercing. "Because according to the SWIFT transaction logs I pulled this morning, Rio Sol is registered to your brother-in-law's address in Florida. And the only 'consulting' they did was buying a luxury yacht named The Big Dog."
The other executives shifted uncomfortably. They looked at Julian.
Julian took a bite of his apple. Crunch.
"Is that true, Frank?" Julian asked softly.
"She's lying! She's hacking the system!" Frank stood up, pointing a trembling finger at Elena. "You can't prove anything!"
Elena pressed a button. The large screen behind her lit up. It displayed a photo of Frank, on the yacht, holding a stack of cash, with the timestamp: October 14th.
"I don't need to hack, Frank. Your brother-in-law has a public Instagram account," Elena said dryly. "And you have really bad operational security."
She closed her laptop.
"You're fired. Security is waiting outside to escort you. Do not touch your computer. Do not pass Go."
Frank looked around the room for support. But the other wolves looked away. They smelled blood in the water, and they didn't want to be next.
Frank Miller—the man who had terrorized the sales department for twenty years—slumped. Two guards entered and dragged him out like a sack of potatoes.
The door closed.
Elena adjusted her glasses and looked around the terrified table.
[SYSTEM ALERT] [INTIMIDATION LEVEL: MAX] [RESPECT EARNED: +50%]
"Now," Elena said, clasping her hands on the table. "Who wants to explain why the R&D budget has a 15% variance? Or should I check your Instagrams too?"
Eleven men opened their folders instantly. Papers shuffled frantically.
Julian Blackwood watched her from the head of the table. A small, dangerous smile played on his lips.
He had found his knife. And she was sharper than he ever imagined.