Page 48 of Forbidden Boss

But the most terrifying thing of all is how happy I am with her. She’s brought a lightness to my life that I’ve never experienced before, not even with Tati. She’s bringing our child into the world, which is more joy than I ever expected to have.

And I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone take that away from me.

21

MARI

Ten a.m. finds me buried in a vendor list I’ve been combing for days. The office hums with the same quiet chaos as every other day, but a tight knot pulls in my chest I can’t quite name. Maybe it’s that Lev isn’t here. He’s off doing God knows what, and I don’t ask. I focus on work instead. It’s the one thing I can control.

My eyes start to swim, so I open a fresh workbook and pull three years’ worth of vendor records, tagging each new payee by month, then mapping them against bank timestamps and batch IDs.

I’ve done this several times already, but this time I’m even more thorough, checking who requested each vendor, who confirmed the W-9s, who approved the payments. It’s boring, tedious work for most people, but the devil is in the details.

For me, numbers tell a story. And eventually that story should name who has stolen millions from Levcon. I run the numbers slowly, check the data carefully, and realize that six months ago the embezzler got bolder. At first they skimmed small amounts from normal vendor disbursements. Six months ago, though,they started taking much larger pulls right before the end of the quarter, then burying them in fake vendor records.

I open my research notes and sort the transactions by who approved them. The name pops up on my screen, big and bold, and I fight to keep my composure. I can’t accuse him without absolute, solid evidence. Two approvals could be a coincidence.

I keep digging, pulling audits from other vendors. I sit there for two hours, combing through approvals, routing numbers, invoices. He’s been so careful about it, so clean that it was easy to miss. But now that I’ve found the pattern, I can’t unsee it, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ve found the guy. Quietly and carefully, I export a PDF summary and stash it in a folder namedQ3 Archive – Receiptsjust in case he’s watching me somehow.

I password-protect the document and send it to my personal email account with a boring, easy-to-ignore subject line. Then I print three key pages from the document, highlight the transactions, and slip them into a bland manila folder, willing my hands to stop shaking.

I text Lev.

Need to talk to you. Right now. Call me ASAP

There are no dots and no sign he’s read the text. I send another message.

It’s urgent.

I’m too keyed up to wait. The office suddenly feels suffocating. I just need to clear my head. I hold the folder against my chest, turn off the computer, and tuck my laptop into my bag. I getup and force myself to walk at a normal pace so I don’t look suspicious.

I pass the reception desk and nod at the receptionist as if everything is fine. The elevator doors open, and I slip in and hit the button for the lobby. Thom or Jareth should be downstairs, ready to jump in as soon as they see me. With any luck, I’ll be in an SUV in less than a minute. Then I can give this folder to Lev, and he can do what needs to be done.

Just as the elevator doors are about to close, a hand slides between them, stopping them short. The sensors catch and the panels bounce back. Marcus steps in, a soft smile on his face. His suit is as crisp as always, a freshly pressed pocket square peeking from his breast pocket, and a needlessly expensive tie around his neck.

“Hey, Mari,” he says casually. “Got a minute?”

“I was heading down, actually.” I smile sheepishly. “I’m not feeling very well. I’m sure you understand. Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”

“It won’t take long,” he says, still smiling.

When the elevator doors open, he holds them with his palm and glances at someone. One of my guards, I’m sure.

“I just need five,” Marcus says, and I peek out to see Thom frowning at me.

I open my mouth to say no, to tell Thom to intervene, but Marcus coolly shuts the door, his face cut off mid-frown. He presses the emergency button to make sure we won’t be interrupted, then turns to me. He looks calm and patient, but I don’t miss the sinister ripple of frustration under the surface.

“You’ve been pulling old batches,” he says carefully, just on the wrong side of friendly.

“That’s my job,” I say as calmly as I can.

He reaches into his suit jacket and slips the gun from his jacket and presses it against my back, careful not to draw the cameras’ attention.

“Don’t you dare scream,” he says quietly, too soft for the camera to pick up. “Don’t try to run. We’re going on a ride.”

“Lev knows,” I bluff. “I texted him. He’s on his way now.”

He laughs casually, as if I’ve told a harmless joke. “He’ll never find you,” he says.