Chapter 2
Julian pulled his hand back from the table as if it had touched a hot iron, his eyes darting frantically across the dining room to see if neighboring patrons were watching their spectacle. The manager of L’Étoile, a tall man in a pristine tuxedo named Mr. Vance—no relation, though the irony was not lost—stood rigidly near the service station, wisely pretending not to notice the public explosion. Julian turned his fury back to Clara, whose hand remained planted like a heavy paperweight over the massive financial liability.
“You’re laughing?” Julian hissed, his voice dropping from a shout to a venomous whisper that shook with suppressed rage. “This isn’t a joke, Clara. This is thirty different accounts across four continents. Embezzlement charges, luxury suites, private jets, and high-stakes culinary extravagance. My signature was forged on every single one of these documents, and guess what? The corporate board traced every digital IP address back to your private residential server. You are completely, legally, and irrevocably ruined.”
Clara didn’t remove her hand. She slowly traced the edge of the top invoice with her manicured fingernail. Her red dress caught the amber glow of the chandelier, making her look less like a cornered debtor and more like an executioner at leisure.
“Is that what the compliance audit told you this morning, Julian?” Clara asked, her tone entirely devoid of panic. “Did the clever little cybersecurity team you hired off the dark web find my IP address sitting neatly on a server in Zurich?”
Julian swallowed hard, a sudden knot forming in his throat. “How do you know about Zurich?”
“Because I’m the one who bought the server space, darling,” Clara said smoothly, tilting her head. “And more importantly, I’m the one who authorized your signature on those very documents.”
Julian’s jaw dropped. The color completely drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, pale grey. “You... you forged my name? You’re admitting to corporate fraud in the middle of a five-star restaurant?”
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“I’m not admitting to anything illegal,” Clara corrected him softly, lifting her hand from the bills at last. She reached into her red evening clutch, pulled out a gold-embossed fountain pen, and slid a single folded document across the white tablecloth toward his trembling fingers. “I’m simply reminding you that a proxy holding company legally owns eighty-four percent of Vance Enterprises. And today, I just called the loan.”
Julian looked down at the paper, his eyes scanning the first line before his breath completely hitched in his chest.
