Tension pulsed through the boardroom, the air Amelia could practically smell it—acrid, metallic, like blood.
Papers lay scattered across the glossy table: copies of the evidence she and Sebastian had gathered. Financial fraud. Shell companies. Money laundering. All roads leading to Isabelle Mercer.
The chairman, Lionel Grant, glanced over the report; his face turned sterner every second. Several other board members whispered frantically among themselves, glancing up at Amelia as if she had just set a live grenade on the table.
Amelia stood at the front of the room, heart-pounding, voice steady. “The evidence is clear. Isabelle Mercer has been siphoning company funds through fraudulent charities. If this goes on without being stopped, Hawke Industries will suffer devastating results.”
I
