Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the skyscrapers as Lena Rivers entered her SoHo loft's studio—now part‑atelier, part‑war room. The hum of sewing machines and low chatter of interns filled the open space, but Lena's focus was on the banking terminal projected on her screen. Ethan's email alert blinked at the top: **“Falsified invoices leaked—immediate action required."**
She moved to the drafting table where Vivian and her head accountant, Marisol, hovered over spreadsheets. Marisol's face was ashen.
“They're claiming you embezzled $500,000 of charitable donations," Marisol said. “Blogs are quoting shell-company invoices 'signed by your team.' Sponsors are freezing shipments."
Lena pressed her palms flat against the table. “Show me the source." Marisol dragged a PDF onto the scre
