The war room wasn’t a boardroom. It was Alexander’s private study, doors locked, curtains drawn, every surface covered in files, laptops, and printouts.
Amelia stood beside him, her eyes scanning the documents Clara had leaked. Every “proof” was meticulous—but too meticulous. Too clean.
“She slipped up,” Amelia murmured, tapping one of the pages. “This date. The contract she forged is marked on a day you weren’t even in the country. You were in Tokyo.”
Alexander’s head snapped toward her. “You’re right.” His lips curved into the faintest, sharpest smile she’d ever seen. “She’s good. But not flawless.”
For hours, they worked together, tearing through lies, matching inconsistencies, gathering evidence. Amelia’s determination matched his, her mind sharp, her instincts quick.
At one point
