Chapter 8 - Preparation for the Gala
The next three days flew by in a blur of intense preparation.
Alexander didn't just treat me like an employee or a guest; he treated me like an equal partner. He set me up in a high-tech corporate office on the 45th floor of the Ashford Grand, surrounded by financial ledgers, security schematics, and asset reports.
Using my background in retail accounting and my sharp eye for detail, I spent hours analyzing corporate supply chains, identifying vulnerabilities where rival syndicates had been quietly siphoning funds through shell companies.
By Thursday afternoon, I had uncovered a multi-million-dollar embezzlement ring operated by three corrupt vice presidents who were secretly feeding insider information to Victor Moretti in Chicago.
When I presented the dossier to Alexander and Marcus in the penthouse study, Marcus whistled in sheer admiration.
“In four days, she found what my internal audit team missed for two years,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Sophia, you’re a natural-born forensic accountant and tactician.”
“It’s just about paying attention to the patterns,” I replied simply, closing the folder. “Every lie leaves a footprint. You just have to know where to look.”
Alexander looked at me across the desk, a deep, warm appreciation in his eyes. “Moretti won't know what hit him tomorrow night.”
“Speaking of tomorrow night,” I said, standing up. “We need to talk about your gala outfit.”
Alexander blinked. “My... outfit? It’s a standard black tuxedo.”
“No,” I said firmly. “If you’re walking into a room knowing an assassin is coming for you, a standard tuxedo is a death trap. It restricts your shoulder movement, it hides your holster awkwardly, and the shoes have zero traction on polished marble.”
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Marcus snorted into his coffee. “She’s got you there, Boss.”
“Tomorrow, we go to my tailor,” Alexander conceded with a small smile. “Or rather, your tailor. Since you’re officially the head of asset protection now.”
