"I'm not sure what you're expecting me to say," I managed. "I didn't prepare Elion's audit. Our finance team worked with an independent firm."
"Yes, I'm aware." Nathan tapped the folder. "Which makes the discrepancies even more interesting, don't you think?"
"Discrepancies happen. Methodologies differ between firms. Asset valuations, depreciation schedules—"
"This isn't a rounding error, Emma." His voice sharpened. "We're talking about material misstatements. Revenue figures that don't match your quarterly filings. Profit margins that appeared out of thin air."
I forced my face to stay neutral. "Then it sounds like a question for the auditors. Not for me."
"Funny." He leaned back. "That's exactly what someone with something to hide would say."
Air came in thin, shallow sips.
He knew. He had to know. Maybe not everything—not about us—but enough. Enough to destroy Damien. Enough to destroy me.
"I don't have anything to hide," I said, but my voice sounded distant. Wrong.
Nathan studied me, his face shifting—softening into something worse than the smirk. Something almost kind.
"Emma." He sighed, spreading his hands. "I'm not your enemy here. I want you to succeed. I want this merger to work." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But these numbers... they're a problem. A big one. And problems like this have a way of surfacing at the worst possible times."
I caught the inside of my cheek between my teeth, biting back every word I wanted to throw at him.
"Now, I could take this to the board." He let the words land. "Request a formal investigation. Subpoena the original records. Let the lawyers tear through everything until they find what they're looking for."
Ice spread through me.
Nathan was quiet. His fingers stilled on the armrest. Something passed behind his eyes—calculation, or maybe something worse. A decision being made.
Then his face shifted, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something intimate. Obscene.
"Or..." He tilted his head, gaze dragging down to my blouse again—slowly, deliberately—before rising back to my face. "We could work something out. Between us."
The air left the room.
"I'm sorry?" My voice came out strangled.
"I'm a reasonable man." He smiled—warm, paternal, utterly revolting. "I'm sure we can find an arrangement that benefits us both. Something..."
He reached across the desk. His fingers closed over my hand—soft, deliberate, lingering.
"...mutually satisfying."
Every nerve in my body screamed to pull away. To snatch my hand back and shove his chair through the window.
But I couldn't move.
My body had locked—the way it does when the threat is too close, too sudden, when flight isn't an option and fight feels like a fantasy. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, slow and proprietary, and bile surged up my throat.
I wanted to scream. To flip his desk. To claw that smile off his face.
Instead I sat frozen, while his gaze crawled over me like I was something he could purchase.
"Think about it," he said softly. "No rush. We have plenty of time."
He stood, smoothing his tie, and walked to the door—holding it open like a gentleman.
"That's all for today, I think. Same time next week?"
