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Chapter 3 - CHAPTER THREE: The Boardroom Whisper

The rain was relentless that night.

It smeared across the glass walls of Graywood Tower, turning the thirty-fourth-floor view into a glimmering mosaic of light and storm. From this height, London looked small — like a living map of greed and ambition.

Inside the boardroom, the air was colder than it should've been. Twelve high-backed leather chairs surrounded an obsidian table polished to a mirror shine. Every reflection — every breath — looked exaggerated, as if the walls themselves were watching.

A faint hum came from the row of monitors on the far wall. Each screen displayed a different angle of the building below: elevators sliding open, hallways lined with glass, and one particular feed focused on the accounting department.

In that frame sat Ethan Cole, still in his work clothes long after everyone else had gone home. His tie was loosened, his eyes locked on the dark monitor before him, as though he were waiting for it to tell him something.

> "Pause it there," said a voice, deep and measured.

The feed froze.

Jonathan Hale, Chief Financial Officer of Graywood Capital, leaned back in his chair, fingers forming a thoughtful steeple beneath his chin. The silver of his suit caught the light like a blade.

Across from him sat Evelyn Crowe, CEO of Graywood Capital — mid-forties, immaculate, and unreadable. She had the kind of face people didn't forget: serene on the surface, but alive with calculation underneath.

Hale gestured toward the screen. "Oxford MBA. Top of his class. No debts. No visible vices. HR calls him driven, ambitious, perfectly compliant."

Evelyn's eyes didn't blink. "They said the same thing about Dawson."

A shadow rippled across the room.

At the end of the table, Marcus Vane, Head of Security, cleared his throat carefully. "With respect, ma'am, Dawson was… unstable. He accessed restricted files. He—"

Evelyn turned her gaze on him like a scalpel.

> "Restricted files," she repeated softly, "that should never have existed."

The silence that followed was complete. Even the air seemed to still.

Outside, lightning fractured the skyline. The sound rolled across the glass like a warning.

Evelyn finally turned back to the image of Ethan on the screen. "He doesn't look like a risk. But the quiet ones never do."

Hale leaned forward, eyes half-lidded. "The system will test him. If he's clean, he'll pass unnoticed."

"And if he isn't?"

Hale's lips twitched, his tone almost amused. "Then the system will correct the error."

She stood slowly, the smooth rustle of her dress the only sound in the room. When she moved, the others automatically straightened — like a subtle shift in gravity. Evelyn Crowe didn't command with words; she commanded with stillness.

> "Keep him under soft watch," she said, her voice controlled, calm. "No incidents. No headlines. We can't afford another suicide in the Graywood portfolio."

Marcus nodded quickly. "Understood, ma'am. Discreet surveillance only."

Evelyn walked toward the wall of glass. Her reflection merged with the storm outside — two versions of the same power. "And Marcus, have IT monitor his login trails. If he touches the old ledgers, I want to know before he realizes what he's found."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turned slightly, fixing Hale with a look that was almost a smile. "And Jonathan… make sure Clara Brooks stays close. She's a distraction, but people trust her. That's useful."

Hale smirked. "Until they stop being useful?"

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Then we do what Graywood does best — we balance the books."

The CFO chuckled under his breath, but there was no warmth in it.

When Evelyn left the room, her heels clicked once — sharp, deliberate, echoing. The automatic lights dimmed behind her, plunging the boardroom into half-darkness.

The remaining two men sat in silence, the monitors still frozen on Ethan's image.

After a long moment, Marcus exhaled. "You think he'll dig?"

Hale didn't look at him. "They always dig. That's why we hire them. Curiosity is the first test."

He pressed a button on the console. The screens came alive again, flickering through security feeds — one after another until they locked on to Ethan's camera.

On screen, Ethan grabbed his jacket, shut down his monitor, and stood. The clock on the wall read 11:58 PM.

He moved toward the elevator, the camera following his every step.

> "Enhance," Hale murmured.

The image zoomed in slightly — Ethan's reflection caught in the elevator's chrome doors, his expression unreadable.

Lightning flashed again, washing his figure in pale light.

And then — just as the doors slid shut — the speakers in the boardroom hissed softly. Static. A faint distortion, like the building itself whispering through the wires.

It was almost inaudible. Almost.

> "He's here… The new one… The ledger knows…"

Hale's smile vanished. He stared at the screens, his jaw tightening. "Did you hear that?"

Marcus frowned. "Probably interference. The system's been glitching since the last—"

> "No," Hale said quietly. "That wasn't interference."

The lights flickered once.

All twelve monitors blinked to black.

And in the reflection of the darkened glass, the words GRAYWOOD CAPITAL glowed faintly — the letters warped, as if the storm itself was rewriting them.

Then everything went still.

Only the rain kept falling.

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