C2 The Woman He Should Have Fired

At 3:17 p.m., Amara Bennett discovered two things about Cross Industries.

First, the coffee machine on the thirty-eighth floor was apparently more expensive than her monthly rent.

Second, someone had searched her employee file.

She stared at the computer screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

The notification had appeared while she was attempting to access the archive again.

ACCESS DENIED.

She frowned and tried a second time.

YOUR ACCOUNT PERMISSIONS HAVE BEEN UPDATED. PLEASE CONTACT ADMINISTRATION.

"What?"

She leaned closer to the screen.

Twenty minutes ago, she'd been able to access the acquisition records. Now, her permissions had been reduced to basic departmental files.

Someone had taken away her access.

Someone who knew exactly what she'd been looking at.

Amara glanced toward the executive corridor. Damian's office door remained closed.

Did he do this?

The thought irritated her more than it should have.

He had asked her to investigate the discrepancy. He had given her permission to retrieve the original documents. Then, after she'd shown him the records, he'd quietly shut the door in her face.

Typical billionaire behavior.

Give someone a problem to solve, then punish them for finding the answer.

Her phone vibrated.

Nia: FIRST DAY UPDATE. Have you met your billionaire boss yet? Is he handsome? Is he single? Should I start planning our future as rich people's friends?

Amara almost smiled.

Amara: He's arrogant, controlling, and has the personality of a locked filing cabinet.

Nia: So he's handsome.

Amara: I hate you.

Nia: You love me. Also, don't get fired on day one. We have plans.

Amara slipped her phone away before she could respond.

Getting fired was the last thing she needed.

Her mother had spent the morning pretending she wasn't worried about the bills. Amara had seen the unpaid notices on the kitchen counter before leaving home. She knew exactly how much this job mattered.

She couldn't afford to lose it.

But she couldn't afford to stop looking, either.

Not when she was this close.

Amara opened the drawer beneath her desk and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.

Her father's handwriting covered one side.

She had carried the note in her wallet for four years, folding and unfolding it until the creases had begun to split.

When people tell you the truth is obvious, ask who benefits from you believing it.

Her father had written those words long before the scandal.

At the time, she'd thought they were just another of his lessons about business.

Now, they felt like a warning.

Amara folded the paper carefully and returned it to her drawer.

Then she stood.

If the computer wouldn't let her into the archives, she'd find another way.

Damian Cross had never enjoyed being surprised.

Surprises were unpredictable. They disrupted schedules, complicated negotiations, and usually meant somebody had failed to do their job.

Yet, at 3:30 p.m., his uncle managed to surprise him.

"Daniel Bennett?" Victor Cross repeated over the phone. "Why are we discussing that man?"

Damian stared at the document on his desk.

"Because his company was acquired under circumstances that don't match our official records."

A pause.

Then a short laugh.

"You're running a billion-dollar corporation, Damian. Do you intend to investigate every outdated filing cabinet in the building?"

"Not every filing cabinet. Just the ones connected to questionable acquisitions."

"That deal was reviewed years ago."

"By whom?"

"Your father. My team. The legal department. Take your pick."

"And the discrepancies?"

"Administrative errors happen."

"Three separate discrepancies?"

"Perhaps your new researcher is looking for problems that don't exist."

Damian's eyes narrowed.

He hadn't told Victor that the employee who discovered the discrepancies was new.

He certainly hadn't mentioned her name.

"How do you know I have a new researcher?"

Another pause.

It lasted less than two seconds.

It was still too long.

"I heard Harrison hired someone," Victor replied smoothly. "News travels."

"Apparently."

"Look, Damian. Your father spent years building this company. He wouldn't have approved an acquisition without understanding what he was signing."

"My father trusted people."

"And you're suggesting that was a mistake?"

"I'm suggesting nothing. I'm asking questions."

"Then ask them carefully."

Victor's voice had changed. The warmth had disappeared, leaving something harder beneath it.

"Some matters are better left where they are."

Damian slowly sat back.

"Is that advice?"

"It's family."

The call ended a moment later.

Damian kept the phone against his ear for several seconds after the line went dead.

Some matters are better left where they are.

His uncle had said the same thing four years ago when Daniel Bennett's company collapsed.

Damian remembered it now with uncomfortable clarity.

He'd been twenty-seven, newly appointed to the executive board, and more concerned with proving himself than questioning the men who'd raised him. His father had been ill. Victor had handled the negotiations. The legal department had presented its findings.

And Damian had signed the final acquisition approval.

He had never personally examined the original transfer records.

He had assumed someone else had.

His gaze fell to the signature on the page.

Victor Cross.

For the first time in years, Damian wondered whether his family's version of the truth had been carefully prepared for him.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in."

His executive assistant entered.

"Mr. Cross, the permissions change you requested has been completed."

Damian looked up.

"I didn't request a permissions change."

The assistant stopped.

"You didn't?"

"No."

"I received instructions from the executive administration account. They said to restrict Miss Bennett's access to the acquisition archive."

"Who authorized it?"

"The request came through an administrative account, sir. I assumed it had your approval."

Damian stood.

"Restore her access."

"Immediately?"

"Immediately."

The assistant nodded and left.

Damian looked at the folder again.

Someone had discovered the discrepancy, and someone else had tried to stop the investigation before it could go any further.

That meant one of two things.

Either Amara Bennett had stumbled across an innocent mistake that someone wanted to hide for reasons of their own.

Or the mistake wasn't innocent at all.

He picked up the phone.

"Find out everything you can about Amara Bennett," he told his assistant when she answered.

"Her employment file?"

"Everything. Education, previous employment, references. I want to know why she applied to Cross Industries and whether she's connected to anyone involved in the Bennett acquisition."

"Understood."

"And don't contact her."

"Of course."

Damian ended the call.

He told himself it was a routine security check.

He told himself he would do the same for any employee who uncovered a discrepancy in a major acquisition.

He did not ask himself why the name Amara Bennett had stayed in his mind long after she'd left his office.

At 4:05 p.m., Amara was standing outside the records department, trying to persuade a very nervous administrator to let her inspect the original acquisition ledger.

"I'm sorry," the woman said for the third time. "Your permissions have been restricted."

"I know. That's why I'm asking you to check whether the restriction was intentional."

"I can't override the system."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to confirm who authorized it."

The administrator looked toward the glass corridor as though she expected someone to emerge from it at any moment.

"Miss Bennett, please. I don't want trouble."

Neither did Amara.

Unfortunately, trouble had been following her family since the day her father's name appeared in the newspapers.

"Look," she said, lowering her voice. "I'm not asking you to break any rules. I just need to know who changed my access."

The administrator hesitated.

Then her computer chimed.

She looked at the screen.

Her eyebrows rose.

"It's been restored."

Amara blinked.

"What?"

"Your access. It's been restored."

Amara stared at her.

"By whom?"

The administrator clicked through two screens.

"Executive authorization."

Of course.

Damian Cross.

Amara wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or suspicious.

Possibly both.

"Thank you," she said, and hurried back toward her desk.

She had barely sat down when her extension rang.

"Miss Bennett," Damian's voice said through the phone.

Her spine straightened.

"Yes, Mr. Cross?"

"My office. Five minutes."

He disconnected before she could ask why.

Amara stared at the receiver.

"Charming," she muttered.

Then she gathered her notebook and the copies of the acquisition records.

If Damian wanted to explain why her access had been removed and restored, she intended to hear every word.

And if he wanted to fire her, she intended to make him work for it.

Damian was standing beside the windows when Amara entered his office.

He turned as she closed the door.

"Sit."

"I'd rather stand, thank you."

His expression remained impassive.

"Suit yourself."

Amara remained near the door.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Your archive access was restricted without my authorization."

She hadn't expected that.

"And you restored it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you were hired to do research, and research requires access to records."

Amara crossed her arms.

"That's surprisingly reasonable."

"Don't sound so disappointed."

"I wasn't aware you were capable of surprising me."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You seem to have mistaken my patience for an invitation to insult me."

"And you seem to have mistaken your job title for a personality."

Silence.

Amara immediately regretted the second half of that sentence.

Not because it wasn't true.

Because she still needed the salary.

Damian studied her for a moment, then gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

"Sit down, Miss Bennett."

This time, she did.

He returned to his desk and opened the acquisition folder.

"Tell me what you found."

She explained the discrepancies again, this time in greater detail. The original transfer date, the inconsistent valuation, the subsidiary whose ownership history appeared to have been altered.

Damian listened without interrupting.

When she finished, he tapped the final page.

"You're aware that these records relate to an acquisition that was reviewed and approved by senior management?"

"Yes."

"You're also aware that accusing senior management of misconduct without sufficient evidence could have serious consequences?"

"I'm not accusing anyone."

"Not yet."

"I'm trying to establish what happened."

"And if your investigation reveals that the records were altered deliberately?"

Amara met his gaze.

"Then I'll follow the evidence."

"Even if it implicates someone you know?"

The question landed strangely.

She wondered whether he knew who she was.

Whether he'd discovered the connection between her surname and the company that had collapsed.

Whether he was testing her.

She kept her face still.

"Especially then."

For several seconds, Damian said nothing.

Then he closed the folder.

"From tomorrow, you'll work directly with my office on the acquisition review."

Amara stared at him.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I was hired by the legal research department."

"Your assignment has changed."

"Can you do that?"

"I'm the chief executive."

"That wasn't my question."

A muscle moved in his jaw.

"Yes, Miss Bennett. I can."

She exhaled slowly.

"Why me?"

"Because you noticed something everyone else missed."

"That doesn't explain why you want me working directly for you."

"Would you prefer I assign the investigation to someone who hasn't noticed the discrepancies?"

She hated that he had a point.

She hated even more that he knew it.

"Fine," she said. "But I have one condition."

Damian looked almost amused.

"You're negotiating with me?"

"I'm asking for access to the original records, all related correspondence, and the right to document any inconsistencies I find."

"You'll have access to the relevant files."

"All of them?"

"All relevant files."

"And if someone tries to restrict my access again?"

"Report it to me."

Amara leaned forward.

"I don't want special treatment, Mr. Cross. I want to do my job without someone interfering every time I find something inconvenient."

His expression changed.

For the first time since she'd entered his office, the distance between them seemed less like a wall and more like a question neither knew how to answer.

"Then we understand each other," he said.

She stood.

"I hope so."

She had reached the door when his voice stopped her.

"Miss Bennett."

She turned.

"Why did you apply to this company?"

Her heart stumbled once.

It was a simple question.

An ordinary question.

But something about the way he watched her made it feel like a trap.

"Because I'm qualified for the position."

"That's what your application says."

"Then why ask?"

"Because people rarely choose to work for a company without a reason."

Amara held his gaze.

"I need a job."

"That isn't the whole answer."

"It's the answer you're getting."

For a long moment, neither moved.

Then Damian nodded toward the door.

"Tomorrow. Eight o'clock."

Amara opened it.

"Try not to miss me too much, Mr. Cross."

She regretted it the instant the words left her mouth.

But she refused to turn around and take them back.

At 6:42 p.m., Amara finally left the building.

The sky had turned a deep shade of blue, and the city lights were beginning to glow against the glass towers. She walked three blocks before stopping at a small café, where she bought the cheapest sandwich on the menu and sat near the window.

Her phone rang.

"Mum?"

"How was your first day?"

Amara smiled faintly.

"I'm still employed, if that's what you're asking."

Her mother laughed softly.

"That's a good start."

"It was... interesting."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?"

Amara watched a taxi pass outside.

"Both."

She could tell her mother about the records. About Damian. About the strange feeling that someone was already watching her.

Instead, she said, "I think I might be able to find something."

The silence on the other end of the call changed.

"Amara."

"I know."

"Your father wouldn't want you risking everything for the past."

"I'm not risking everything."

"Promise me you'll be careful."

Amara closed her eyes briefly.

"I promise I'll be careful."

It wasn't exactly the same as promising to stop.

Her mother seemed to understand that.

"Your father was proud of you," she said quietly. "Whatever happens, don't let anyone convince you that you have to prove your worth to them."

Amara swallowed.

"I won't."

They said goodbye a moment later.

She remained by the window, holding her phone in both hands.

For four years, she'd imagined what it would feel like to get close to the truth.

She'd imagined anger, relief, maybe even justice.

She hadn't imagined Damian Cross looking at her as though he was beginning to suspect that she was hiding something.

Because she was.

And sooner or later, he would discover it.

At 8:16 p.m., Damian received the first page of Amara Bennett's personnel report.

Her education was excellent. Her references were strong. Her employment history was short but credible.

Nothing unusual.

Then he reached the section listing her emergency contact.

EVELYN BENNETT.

He opened a second document.

A news archive appeared on his screen.

The headline was dated four years earlier.

DEVELOPER DANIEL BENNETT DIES AFTER FINANCIAL SCANDAL.

Damian stared at the photograph beneath it.

He remembered Daniel Bennett.

Not personally—not well enough to recognize his daughter on sight—but he remembered the man from the acquisition meetings. He remembered his father's warnings about the Bennett project. He remembered Victor insisting that the evidence was conclusive.

And he remembered signing the approval.

Damian picked up his phone.

"Cancel my first meeting tomorrow," he told his assistant.

"Sir?"

"I want the original Bennett acquisition file on my desk by seven."

"Of course."

He ended the call and looked again at Amara's photograph.

She hadn't applied to Cross Industries by accident.

She had come looking for something.

The question was whether she was looking for justice—or revenge.

Damian returned to the personnel report.

At the bottom of the final page was a note from the hiring director.

Candidate displayed unusual interest in historical acquisition records during the interview.

Damian leaned back in his chair.

For the first time that evening, he smiled.

Not warmly.

Not kindly.

But with the unmistakable expression of a man who had finally found an opponent worth taking seriously.

"All right, Amara Bennett," he murmured to the empty office. "Let's find out what you're really after."

He had no idea that across the city, Amara was making exactly the same decision about him.

And neither of them understood yet that the truth they were chasing would force them to choose between the families that had shaped them and the future they might build together.