The next morning, I woke up grouchy. I'd spent a sleepless night tossing and turning. I couldn't get the conversation with Alex—the mysteries surrounding the club's finances, and his relationship with Hartwell—out of my head.
After showering and dressing I made my way down to Alex's office, and as I stepped inside, he looked up from the paperwork spread before him, his eyes locking onto mine.
"Did you enjoy your time off?" he asked, his voice gruff.
"I did," I replied, sitting down in the chair across from him.
"Good," he said, pushing a stack of invoices towards me. "Would you mind going through these again? There's gotta be something I'm missing."
We spent hours poring over the documents, our conversation limited to the occasional question or observation about the suspicious transac
