The rumors started small—just a whisper in the elevator.
“Didn't Carter's last project fold early?"
Then came the internal audits. My assistant forwarded me an old rendering from another job. Identical to Ben's pitch for our tower. Except dated two years ago. Different client. Different city.
And it wasn't just one.
I stayed late three nights in a row, combing through Ben's submissions. By the third file, I stopped pretending it was coincidence. The invoices looked… off. Recycled line items. Rounded budgets that made no structural sense. NDA sign-offs with shaky signatures.
I told Claire.
“Are you sure?" she asked, voice low over the phone.
“Not yet," I said. “But it smells like rot."
I couldn't sleep. I started marking up contracts at 2 a.m., circling numbers in red like crime sce
