Chapter 6 - The Anatomy of Fraud
Arthur turned his back on Eleanor, walking slowly toward Maya’s desk. He picked up a single sheet of paper from the pile Maya had helped gather—a printout of transaction hashes.
"Richard," Arthur said without looking back.
"Yes, Mr. Vance?" Sterling answered instantly, standing at attention like a nervous cadet.
"Miss Lin here tried to tell your Senior Director that she was making a mistake," Arthur said, holding up the paper. "Miss Lin was also the analyst who flagged the irregular transfers in the Compliance database three weeks ago, wasn't she?"
Maya snapped her head up in shock. "You... you knew about my report?"
Arthur turned to her, his harsh face softening into a genuine, warm smile. "Of course I knew, my dear. I spent three hours reading your analytical breakdown in the janitor's closet on the thirty-eighth floor. Your math was brilliant. Your logic was flawless. But your superiors buried it."
He looked back at Eleanor, whose face had gone completely grey.
"They buried it," Arthur continued, "because Eleanor Vance and her operational team were the ones taking the money. Eighteen million dollars over two years."
"That's a lie!" Eleanor screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. "He's making it up! He has no proof!"
Arthur tapped his titanium phone against his palm. "Three minutes ago, my private security network seized your offshore accounts in Zurich and Grand Cayman. Your accomplice, Chief Financial Officer Marcus Thorne, was detained at JFK Airport twenty minutes ago trying to board a flight to Dubai."
Eleanor’s purse slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She staggered back, collapsing into an office chair, her eyes wide and unblinking as her entire life crumbled into ash around her.
May you like
"Richard," Arthur commanded coldly. "Have corporate security hold her in the executive suite until the Federal Bureau of Investigation arrives. Do not let her touch a phone."
Two armed security guards immediately stepped forward, grabbing Eleanor by her arms and hoisting her out of the chair. She didn't fight. She didn't speak. She was dragged away down the carpeted corridor, her maroon heels dragging lifelessly against the floor she had claimed to own moments before.
