Before You Were Mine

By late morning, the executive floor of OHC Acquisitions was a hum of disciplined chaos. Glass walls designed more for the illusion of transparency than the reality of it reflected the hurried silhouettes of interns and VPs. It was an architectural mask, projecting control over a foundation of sand. Alexis sat at her desk, her spine a straight line of defiance. Her fingers danced across the tablet, layering digital files like a deck of cards she was preparing to cheat with. Inside the glass office behind her, Diante was pacing. He hadn't stopped for an hour, his silhouette moving back and forth like a caged predator. His muffled voice bled through the glass, sharp and jagged. "I don't care about the optics, Aaron! I want the signatures by the close of business, or I want your resignation!" Alexis didn't flinch. She’d memorized his tantrum rhythms years ago. She scrolled deeper into the Rizen Pharmaceuticals acquisition trail. Her eyes narrowed. This was too clean. The timing of the capital shift wasn't just professional; it was strategically calculated. Rizen wasn't the buyer. They were a ghost; a hollow shell being puppeted by someone with a much longer reach. She traced a wire transfer back to a holding company that smelled like Rourke's signature style. He was insider trading, moving the pieces of Rizen before the public even knew the board was meeting. He wasn't just acquiring a company… he was stealing it. A brown paper bag slammed onto her desk, skidding across the mahogany and hitting her tablet. “Eat,” a voice commanded. Alexis didn't look up. “Michelle. I’m busy.” “Don’t say my name like I’m a social media notification,” Michelle countered, kicking a chair toward the desk and dropping onto it with her usual uncontainable gravity. “I brought you a bagel with lox. Be grateful or be hungry.” Alexis finally glanced over, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.” “I know. But if you don't eat, you get that quiet and intense look, and frankly, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for your Ice Queen routine today.” Michelle leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage-whisper. “Besides, you need your strength for the raw filth I just heard about.” Alexis pulled the bagel from the bag, the scent of red onion cutting through the sterile office air. “Is this about the accounting audit?” “Better,” Michelle grinned, a dark light in her eyes. “Old Man Miller from Accounting? Caught. Red-handed in the high-security file room. He was pinned against the cabinet containing the 2024 tax records. His knees were practically knocking together.” Alexis stopped chewing, her brow lifting. “You’re lying.” “I wish. Word at the water cooler is that Daniela, the new intern, went to get some files, and there’s Miller, 60-year-old Miller, with that absolute unit of a lead tech from IT—the big one, Mark, you know the one…red hair. ” Michelle paused for effect, her grin widening. “Yes, I know who he is.” “Well, it seems Miller’s trousers were at his ankles, and Mark had him bent over the 'A-F' cabinet, absolutely wrecking him. Miller was groaning so loud Daniela said she was surprised she didn’t hear it from the hallway. She told me that Mark didn't even stop moving. He just smirked and mouthed for her to close the door.” Alexis pressed her lips together, trying to process the visual. A rare, microscopic slip of a smirk threatened to break her composure. “Oh wow. I.. I don't have the capacity for Miller’s midlife, or end-of-life, crisis, Michelle. Especially not in the file room.” “You always have capacity for a scandal, Alexis. It’s the only thing that keeps your blood from turning into spreadsheets. The drama is delicious, and you know Mark has direct access to all of Miller's emails now. Imagine the blackmail.” Michelle’s grin faded as she looked at the screen. “You’re still on the Rizen file? I thought Diante closed that.” “He thinks he did,” Alexis murmured, her focus snapping back to the data. “But Rizen seems to be a front. Someone is moving behind the curtain, and I’m starting to think Rourke is the one holding the strings. If I can prove he’s front-running these trades, the SEC won't just fine him. They’ll bury him.” If this is real, the fallout would be catastrophic, she thought to herself. Michelle stood up, “Well, don't let the ghosts get you before five. We’re getting drinks. No excuses. I need to tell you what happened with my date last night, and you need a margarita the size of your head.” “I’ll try,” Alexis said, which both of them knew probably meant not. As Michelle walked away, Alexis’s phone buzzed—a direct line from Legal. She snatched it up. "Vance here," a voice clipped. "The full breakdown is in your inbox. It’s worse than we thought, Alexis. There are offshore links tied to the Vale trust that aren't on the official books. Rourke has been skimming from the acquisition fund for months." A new notification pinged on her screen before she could respond. It was a text from the office six feet behind her. DIANTE: Be ready to leave in 30. Don't forget the physical files. No mistakes. Alexis locked her screen. She checked her watch—12:02 PM. There was no room for delay or error. Alexis locked her screen and gathered her materials in one fluid motion, aligning her tablet and notes before she even stood. She checked the time again and rose, slipping her bag over her shoulder. The office continued its steady, structured existence around her, but she was already mentally elsewhere, recalibrating for the meeting at Vale Global. She moved toward the elevators, her heels striking a clean, even cadence against the floor. Conversations blurred at the edges of her perception and the constant ringing of phones didn't follow her. Inside the elevator, the descent was quiet, the mirrored walls reflecting a version of her that gave nothing away. When the doors slid open, the atmosphere shifted into the broader, more exposed energy of the lobby. Diante was already there, standing near the entrance with his phone in hand and his posture rigid. He didn't look at her as she approached, and she stopped just short of him, providing exactly enough space to acknowledge her presence without forcing an interaction. He ended his call without a greeting. “We’re late.” “No we aren’t,” she said, her voice even. “We’ll arrive with time to spare.” He glanced at her, a brief and sharp assessment, as if deciding whether to challenge her logic. “Make sure you’re not behind when we get in the room.” The implication landed exactly where it was intended. She didn't respond. He turned and moved toward the exit, and she followed. Outside, the city met them with a rise of sound—engines, voices, and constant movement. A black Maybach waited at the curb, its engine running and its presence unmistakable. The rear door was open before they reached it, and Diante slid in without breaking stride. Alexis followed, settling into the seat beside him. The door closed with a muted, soundless seal that instantly cut the city away. Inside the car, everything softened; the noise disappeared, and the air was cooler, surrounded by the scent of clean, understated leather. The space felt insulated, mirroring the man beside her. He said nothing, and neither did she. As the car pulled into traffic, buildings slid past in clean lines through the tinted glass. Alexis opened her tablet to the Rizen file, the details waiting for her final review. Across from her, Diante scrolled through his phone with an unchanged expression, acting as if the meeting ahead were already beneath him. They both knew it wasn't. Alexis's eyes moved across the screen, reviewing the patterns that tied Rizen to Vale Global. They were not separate. The energy in the car started to change, becoming more defined the closer they got to their destination. Whatever was waiting inside Vale Global, she would meet it exactly as she was: prepared, and ready. Even so, a quiet intuition warned her that this meeting was going to matter far more than it should.