The Blood Heir

first Assignment

Sienna

My desk sat right outside his office like a guard dog position, except I was supposed to be watching for threats from the outside, not realizing the biggest threat was the man behind the door who'd just casually admitted he was investigating his own father. I couldn't decide if Dante Ashford was insane, brilliant, or playing some twisted game I didn't understand yet.The chair was expensive, probably cost more than my entire apartment's furniture combined. The computer monitor was sleek and massive, already logged into systems that made my fingers itch with possibility. But I knew better than to touch anything without permission. He'd been clear. Every click, every file, every breath I took in this building was monitored.Mae Caldwell, his executive assistant, the real one apparently, appeared beside my desk with a stack of folders thick enough to stop bullets. She was older than me, maybe forty, with eyes that had seen enough corporate warfare to recognize a liability when one sat at her former desk."Mr. Ashford wants these reviewed by end of day," she said, dropping them with a thud that rattled my coffee mug. "Financial reports from our last three acquisitions. Flag anything that seems irregular."I blinked at the mountain of paperwork. "All of this? By today?""Is that a problem?" Her smile was razor sharp. "Because Mr. Ashford mentioned you were thorough. Thorough people don't complain about workload."She walked away before I could respond, heels clicking against marble floors like a countdown timer. I pulled the first folder toward me, opened it, and immediately wanted to cry. Pages and pages of financial statements, acquisition costs, projected revenue streams, legal documentation in language so dense it might as well have been ancient Greek.But I'd told Dante I was thorough, and I'd meant it. I'd worked three jobs while studying for my nursing certification, pulled double shifts while caring for my mother, managed a household budget that would make accountants weep. I could handle financial reports, even ones designed to bury the truth under mountains of technical jargon.Three hours in, my eyes burned and my coffee had gone cold, but I'd found something. A discrepancy in medication costs at one of the acquired facilities, numbers that didn't match up between quarterly reports. Either someone was incompetent at basic math, or money was being moved around in ways that weren't supposed to show up on official documentation.I flagged it with a sticky note, moved to the next folder. Found another inconsistency two hours later, this time in staffing costs that seemed inflated compared to actual employee numbers. My stomach turned as I realized what I was probably looking at. Ghost employees. Fake positions that existed on paper but funneled money elsewhere.By six o'clock, I'd flagged fourteen separate irregularities across three facilities. My neck ached, my vision blurred, and I desperately needed to pee but had been too focused to take a break. The office had emptied out around me, other assistants and executives heading home to families and lives that didn't revolve around hunting ghosts in financial statements.Dante's office door opened. He stood there in shirtsleeves now, jacket discarded somewhere, looking almost human without the armor of his full suit. "You're still here.""You said end of day." I gestured at the folders. "It's still day, technically."He moved to my desk, picked up the first folder I'd flagged, flipped through my notes. His expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. Tension, maybe. Or recognition."You found them," he said quietly."Found what?""The holes. The places where money disappears into accounts that don't officially exist." He set the folder down, looked at me with something that might have been respect. "Took my forensic accountant three months to find what you found in six hours. Either you're naturally gifted at spotting fraud, or you've been studying our financial structures longer than you've admitted."I met his gaze, refusing to back down. "My mother's medical bills didn't make sense. I spent two years going through every charge, every medication, every procedure. You learn to spot inconsistencies when your family's drowning in debt that shouldn't exist.""And you thought if you could just get inside, you'd find proof we'd killed her deliberately." He leaned against my desk, close enough that I could see the tiredness around his eyes, the tension in his jaw. "What did you think would happen then? You'd take it to the police? The medical board? The press?""Any of those," I said. "All of those. Whatever it took.""They're all compromised." His voice carried a weight that made my chest tighten. "My father has people everywhere, Sienna. Investigators who look the other way, journalists who bury stories, board members who classify murders as medical complications. You would have ended up dead in an alley somewhere, another tragic victim of random violence."The way he said my first name, like we were allies instead of enemies, made something uncomfortable twist in my stomach. "Then why are you helping me?""I'm not helping you. I'm using you." He pushed off from my desk, headed back toward his office. "Go home, Miss Cross. Tomorrow we start the real work, and you're going to need all your strength for what comes next."I gathered my things with shaking hands, grabbed my bag, and headed for the elevator. Only when the doors closed and I was alone did I let myself break, pressing my forehead against the cool metal wall and trying to remember why I'd thought this was a good idea.My phone buzzed. A text from Julian. "Did you get fired yet?"I smiled despite everything. "Not yet. Give me time."The subway ride home felt longer than usual, every stop dragging out while I replayed the day in my head. Dante Ashford wasn't what I'd expected. Wasn't the monster I'd built up in my mind over five years of grief and rage. He was something more complicated, more dangerous. A man who knew his family was evil and stayed anyway, gathering evidence but never pulling the trigger.I got off at my stop, walked the four blocks to our apartment building with its broken front door and flickering hallway lights. Home sweet home, where Julian waited with leftover pizza and questions I couldn't answer yet.But as I climbed the stairs, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made a deal with the devil. And the worst part was, I wasn't sure I regretted it.