Richard's massive shadow completely swallowed Clara.
His voice was as freezing as black ice, instantly slicing right through the dead silence of the soundproof executive office.
"Did you find something incredibly interesting, Assistant?"
Clara's heart violently stopped beating. All the blood in her veins instantly turned to solid, freezing lead. The highly classified Subject Termination Protocol the exact document carrying the official execution order for her father was still resting wide open right in her trembling hands.
The murderer was standing less than two feet away from her.
Clara's brilliant mind instantly shifted into overdrive, calculating her odds at a speed faster than light. If Richard saw this specific document, her life would violently end right here on this expensive carpet. She would never get the chance to drag this monster into a federal courtroom.
Operating entirely on pure, unadulterated panic and raw survival instinct, Clara deliberately and violently swiped her elbow across the edge of her desk.
CRASH!
Her heavy ceramic coffee mug violently shattered against the polished marble floor. Boiling, pitch-black espresso exploded everywhere, completely soaking the towering stacks of financial ledgers, violently splashing onto Richard's bespoke suit trousers, and absolutely drenching Clara's tailored skirt.
Richard let out a sharp, vicious curse. He instinctively jerked backward to avoid the scalding liquid.
That two-second window of absolute chaos was the single, desperate lifeline Clara needed.
Her hands moved with blinding, terrifying speed. She violently shoved her father's assassination order deep beneath a massive, incredibly thick accounting ledger, instantly snatching a random, dry vendor invoice from the top of the pile.
"I am so sorry! I am so incredibly sorry, Sir!" Clara shrieked in absolute panic. She frantically scrambled to her feet, wildly grabbing a handful of tissues. She put on a flawless, Oscar-worthy performance of a terrified, clumsy assistant a performance heavily fueled by her actual, paralyzing terror.
Richard viciously slapped her hands away as she desperately tried to dab at his ruined suit. His dark, predatory eagle eyes instantly locked onto the piece of paper she was currently clutching.
"What the hell were you just reading?" Richard demanded, his eyes narrowing into lethal, suspicious slits.
Clara immediately held up the coffee-stained vendor invoice. She intentionally made her hands tremble violently.
"This... this is an incredibly massive chemical procurement invoice from Sector Four," Clara lied, her voice completely hoarse and shaky. "The total figure is inflated by almost three hundred percent compared to the previous quarter. I was just entirely shocked by the sheer number, and then you suddenly spoke right behind me and I completely panicked."
Richard aggressively snatched the stained paper right out of her hands. His sharp eyes rapidly scanned the long string of digits. It was, indeed, a standard, albeit massively inflated, corporate invoice. There was absolutely nothing overtly suspicious about it, other than the astronomical price tag.
He let out a dry, incredibly cynical snort. "In the corporate world, Clara, low-level embezzlement like this is standard operating procedure. Do not act like some pathetic, naive country girl who has never seen a billion-dollar discrepancy before."
Richard casually tossed the crumpled invoice back onto her desk.
At that exact millisecond, the heavy double doors of the CEO's office swung open without a single knock.
David rushed inside, his face pale and incredibly tense. "Mr. Sterling, please forgive the interruption. The executive board of directors has just unexpectedly convened an emergency session on the fiftieth floor. Your uncle, Howard Sterling, is aggressively weaponizing the massive stock drop caused by the media rumors from last night. They are demanding your presence immediately."
Richard's sharp jaw instantly clenched tight. He shot a lethal glare at his luxury watch, then turned his dark, warning gaze back to Clara.
"Clean up this pathetic mess immediately," Richard ordered coldly. "And remember this very carefully, Clara. You are currently sitting inside my private fortress. Every single square inch of this room is heavily monitored. Do not even think about attempting anything suicidal while I am gone."
Richard turned on his heel and marched out with David. The heavy oak doors violently slammed shut behind them, the heavy click of the lock echoing loudly in the massive room.
Clara stood completely paralyzed for ten full seconds. She held her breath, waiting until the heavy, rhythmic sound of her husband's footsteps had entirely faded down the hallway.
The absolute second she was certain Richard was gone, Clara's knees violently buckled.
She collapsed back into her leather chair, her chest heaving as she fought to pull oxygen into her lungs. Freezing, terrified sweat poured down her spine.
With violently shaking hands, she reached underneath the massive accounting ledger and slowly pulled out the Subject Termination Protocol. She folded the heavy paper as tightly and compactly as possible, aggressively shoving it deep into a hidden inner pocket of her blazer.
It rested directly over her furiously beating heart, burning against her skin like a branding iron.
Richard murdered him. My own husband ordered the hit.
A blinding, explosive wave of pure, unadulterated hatred violently roared to life in Clara's chest. She wanted to scream until her throat bled. She wanted to physically tear this entire pristine office apart with her bare hands.
But blind rage wouldn't accomplish anything. This piece of paper was physical evidence, yes. But paper could easily be destroyed, burned to ash, or legally dismissed in court as a pathetic forgery.
She needed hard, undeniable digital proof. She needed the exact system audit logs definitively proving that Richard's legally binding signature on this document had been manually inputted directly from the CEO's highly secure executive terminal.
Clara glared at her computer monitor. Richard had only granted her the lowest, most pathetic level of access, strictly limited to the digitization software.