Chapter 7 - The Monday Morning Audit
Monday morning arrived with the grey, unrelenting drizzle typical of late autumn in New York. The financial district was a maze of umbrellas, trench coats, and rushed commuters dodging yellow cabs splashing through puddles along Broadway.
I didn't wear the black silk dress. I didn't wear the steel-tipped stilettos.
Instead, I slipped back into my sensible gray slacks, my high-necked white blouse, and my ash-brown wig, tying my hair back into that familiar, severe clip. I walked through the revolving glass doors of Steves Technologies at exactly 8:14 AM, holding a steaming cardboard cup of black coffee.
The lobby was in a state of absolute, unprecedented chaos.
Security guards were sprinting toward the elevators. Junior executives were huddled in terrified clusters near the reception desk, whispering frantically while refreshing their phones. Two men in dark suits and FBI windbreakers were flashing federal badges at the security turnstiles, bypassing clearance with terrifying speed.
I kept my head down, playing the part of the meek, invisible secretary, and walked straight toward the elevator banks.
"Ms. Woods!"
A breathless voice called out behind me. I turned to see Arthur Pendelton, the gray-haired chief financial officer who Larkin had planned to frame for embezzlement, rushing across the marble lobby, his face pale and trembling.
"Arthur," I said softly, injecting just the right amount of nervous confusion into my voice. "What's happening? Is there an emergency?"
"Emergency?" Arthur grabbed my arm, his hand shaking violently. "Penelope, federal agents are on the forty-second floor. They just raided Larkin's office. They arrested Julian Vance twenty minutes ago at his townhouse, and federal marshals are seizing all corporate servers. They say... they say there was a massive internal whistleblowing report detailing millions in missing funds."
"Oh, goodness," I murmured, widening my eyes in feigned shock. "Do you think Mr. Steves knew anything about it?"
Arthur swallowed hard, glancing nervously toward the elevators where federal agents were currently escorting a handcuffed, pale-faced Larkin Steves past the glass walls. Larkin’s eyes swept over the lobby, searching through the crowd until they locked onto mine.
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For one second, across thirty feet of panicked lobby space, Larkin understood. He saw the subtle, knowing tilt of my head, the calm composure in my eyes, and the cardboard coffee cup in my hand. He realized that the mousy girl he had tried to humiliate at the Solstice Gala was the architect of his total, unmitigated destruction.
Larkin opened his mouth to say something, but the federal agent beside him yanked his arm forward, pulling him into the elevator and out of sight.
