LUCIAN
“I still don’t believe this is a strategic move, sir,” Isaac’s voice crackled through the speakers of my laptop. Even through the compressed video feed, his skepticism was palpable.
I ignored him and crossed the expanse of my office toward the mahogany mini-bar to pour myself a drink. I needed to leave for my parents’ house to get the kids and I still had papers scattered on my desk that needed my attention.
My gaze drifted to the empty space in front of my desk, to the exact spot where she had stood just hours ago looking so small and defiant in my shirt.
After her drunken plea last night, sleep had been impossible. I spent the entire night digging through old reports, flagged transactions, shell registrations, anything that connected to the quiet hemorrhaging we’d been tracki
