"So why are you serving sparkling water to sharks like Damon Cross instead of eating them for lunch?"
Elena turned to him. The pain was old, but it still stung. "Because the bar association does not make the character-and-fitness process easy for the daughters of convicted felons. At least not without a character and fitness review that lasts forever."
My father was Marcus Vance. Silas froze. The glass halted halfway to his mouth. Marcus Vance, the auditor for the state treasury. The one who stole $5 million from the pension fund.
He didn't steal it, Elena said, her voice turning hard as diamond. He found it missing. He was investigating a shell company called Apex Horizons. When he got too close, the money suddenly appeared in his personal offshore account, an account he never opened. He was framed.
He died of a heart attack in prison 6 months into his sentence. Silas set his drink down. The arrogance faded from his face, replaced by a calculating intensity. And who was the lead witness against him? A junior analyst named Gregory Pike, Elena said, who now works as the chief strategy officer for Cross Global.
The car went silent. The connection hung in the air between them. "Damon Cross," Silas whispered. "He took out your father to cover his tracks on the pension fund raid." "I can't prove it," Elena said.
"Not yet. I've been tracking Cross's deals for three years. I took the job at Azure because I knew he held his closing dinners there. I was waiting for him to slip up. Tonight, he did.
Silas leaned back, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked exhausted, the weight of his $12 billion empire crushing him. Well, Elena Vance, it seems we have a common enemy. Cross isn't just trying to buy my software division. He's trying to kill Sterling Vanguard.
He's been shorting my stock for weeks. He knew about the liquidity crisis before my own board did. He looked her in the eye. I don't need a waitress. I don't even need a lawyer.
I have an army of those and they're all useless because they're too scared to tell me the truth. I need a bloodhound. I need someone who can look at a mountain of numbers and see the knife hidden inside. What are you offering? Elena asked.
"A consulting job. Internal audit." You answer only to me. You have full access to the mainframe, the archives, the physical files, everything. And the pay? $20,000 a month plus a bonus if we survive the week.
Elena's breath hitched. $20,000. That would pay off the nursing home for a year. It would give her a life back. But there's a catch, Silas added, his eyes narrowing. There always is.
My company is leaking. Someone on the inside, someone high up is feeding information to Cross. That's how he knew about the drone project. If you come with me, you're walking into a snake pit. If they find out who you are or what you're doing, they will destroy you.
Cross destroyed your father from the outside. Imagine what he can do with an insider helping him. Elena looked down at her hands. They were calloused from carrying trays and scrubbing tables. She had spent three years hiding, afraid of the shadow that had swallowed her family.
But hiding hadn't saved her father, and it wouldn't save her. She looked up at Silas. I don't care about the snakes, Mr. Sterling. I just want the head of the snake.
If you give me access, I will find your leak. But I want one thing in return. Name it. When we take Cross down, I get the files on Apex Horizons. I want to clear my father's name.
Silas extended his hand. Deal. Elena shook it. His grip was warm and firm. For the first time in years, she didn't feel invisible.
One more thing, Silas said, reaching for the intercom. We need to make a stop before the office. You can't walk into Sterling Tower wearing a polyester uniform smelling of French fries. He pressed the button. Driver, change of destination.
Take us to the Pierre and call my stylist. Tell her it's an emergency. Sterling Tower rose 70 stories above Midtown Manhattan. A monolith of steel and blue glass that seemed to pierce the sky. It was 1:00 a.m., but the building was alive.
Light spilled from the upper floors where the crisis teams were working. Elena stepped out of the elevator on the 70th floor, the executive penthouse. She was transformed. The polyester uniform was gone. In its place, she wore a tailored charcoal pantsuit that Silas had paid an exorbitant rush fee to have fitted at 11:30 p.m.
Her hair, usually pulled back in a messy bun, was blown out straight, framing her face. She wore glasses with thin gold frames, fake lenses, but they acted as a shield, a barrier between her and the world. She looked like a shark. She felt like an impostor. Silas walked beside her, his stride long and purposeful.
Chin up, he muttered. If you look like you don't belong, they'll eat you alive. You are Elena Vance, senior strategy analyst. You transferred from the London office. That's the cover.
I've never been to London, she whispered back. Neither have half the people in this building who claim they have. Just don't talk about the weather. They pushed through the double glass doors into the main conference room. The room was filled with tension and the smell of stale coffee.
Around the massive mahogany table sat the inner circle of Sterling Vanguard. There were six of them, men and women in expensive suits who looked like they hadn't slept in days. The conversation stopped abruptly as Silas entered. Silas. A woman at the head of the table stood up.
She was striking with platinum blonde hair cut in a sharp bob and eyes that looked like chips of ice. She wore a white suit that cost more than Elena's entire education. This was Veronica Thorne, the chief financial officer. Elena recognized her immediately from the financial news. She was known as the ice queen of Wall Street.
Where have you been? Veronica demanded, her voice tight. Damon Cross just called me. He's furious. He says you tore up the contract and insulted him in public.
Do you have any idea what you've done? The board is convening an emergency vote at 8:30 a.m. They're going to oust you, Silas. Let them try, Silas said calmly, walking to the head of the table. I'm not selling the software division, Veronica.
Not to cross, and certainly not with the IP clauses he buried in the fine print. Fine print? A heavyset man with a red face spoke up. That was Arthur Pim, the general counsel. I reviewed that contract, Silas.
It was standard. You missed the Seychelles clause, Arthur, Silas said, throwing his jacket onto a chair. which makes me wonder if you're incompetent or complicit. Arthur's face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Now see here. Enough.
Silas cut him off. He gestured to Elena. This is Elena Vance. She's joining the team as a special consultant for the audit. Veronica's eyes snapped to Elena.
She scanned her from head to toe, her gaze lingering on Elena's shoes, which were new, bought by Silas, and her face. It was a look of pure predatory assessment. Consultant, Veronica scoffed. From where? "Independent," Elena said, speaking for the first time.