Chapter 4
The heavy double doors of the manager’s office creaked open as Michael emerged carrying three thick, leather-bound accounting ledgers and a portable secure drive. His hands shook slightly as he placed them on the mahogany table in the private consultation lounge just off the main lobby. The room was furnished with vintage mahogany chairs and framed photographs of the original Oniship founders smiling in an era of genuine integrity.
Charlotte walked into the lounge, her boots clicking evenly against the hardwood floor. She ran a hand over the edge of the mahogany table, feeling the familiar grain. Every corner of this hotel held memories of her grandfather, the man who built the Oniship empire brick by brick before his untimely passing left a vacuum of power that Clara and her late husband ruthlessly exploited.
Clara followed closely behind, her velvet dress rustling with agitated energy. She refused to sit, instead pacing back and forth near the French doors that looked out over the bustling city street. "This is absurd," Clara muttered, though her voice lacked its earlier booming confidence. "My lawyers will have you arrested by noon. You can't just seize a multi-million-dollar property on a whim."
"It’s not a whim, Clara. It’s an execution of probate law," Charlotte said without looking up as she opened the first ledger. The pages were filled with neat columns of numbers, but trained eyes could spot the systemic bleeding immediately. Massive asset transfers, ghost employees, and inflated maintenance costs were funneled directly into offshore accounts bearing Clara’s personal initials.
Michael stood nervously by the door, wringing his hands. "Ms. Vale, I was only following orders. Clara—Mrs. Vance—threatened to ruin my career if I didn't sign off on the quarterly distributions. I have family. I had to pay for my mother's medical treatments."
Charlotte raised a hand, cutting off his panicked defense. Her eyes remained fixed on the ink. "Save the justifications, Michael. I’m not here to throw every terrified employee into the street. I’m here to rebuild. But complicity has a cost, and your cooperation will be the only currency that keeps you employed here."
Michael nodded vigorously, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch in relief. "Anything. Ask me anything, Ms. Vale. I know where every single skeleton is buried in this building."
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"Good," Charlotte said, finally looking up. Her intense gaze pinned Michael in place. "Start with the penthouse financial records from the night of the third-quarter audit five years ago. That was the exact week my signature was forged on the initial transfer of power."
Clara stopped pacing. Her face turned pale, the rich makeup unable to hide the sudden draining of color from her cheeks. She shot a venomous glare at Michael. "Don't you dare say another word, you spineless rat. You’ll ruin us both."
