Blackridge Is Involved In this?

CHAPTER FIVE 

SOREN'S POV 

The elevator doors slid apart, instantly subjecting us to the deafening sound of electronic bass.

Julian Croft’s penthouse occupied the top floor of a downtown high-rise, packed with enough bodies to violate several fire codes. 

Heat radiated from the sheer volume of people, hitting my jacket the second I exited the steel cab. 

Dante carved a path through the crowded entryway without hesitation. 

I followed closely, focusing on the layout of the massive living space rather than the hundreds of students treating a Tuesday night like a weekend. 

"He rented the entire floor," Dante yelled over the music. "Croft really wants everyone to know he has access to offshore trust funds."

"It is a transparent display of insecurity," I replied, raising my volume to be heard. "Secure wealth does not require strobe lights and an open bar to command attention."

Dante laughed, the unguarded sound moved through the noise and he leaned closer to avoid shouting. 

The proximity brought a rush of unexpected heat, forcing me to brace my stance. 

"We are not here to critique his interior design," Dante pointed out, his breath was warm against my ear. "Find the creditors."

I scanned the room. 

While the main area hosted dancing and drinking, a raised platform near the expansive balcony served as a VIP section. 

Julian sat on a curved sofa, surrounded by students and three older men wearing blazers. 

"By the balcony," I directed. "The three men drinking imported gin."

Dante tracked my gaze. "How do you want to play this? If we walk up there together, Julian will instantly trigger a public argument to stroke his own ego."

"Then you provide the distraction," I decided, calculating the angles of approach. "You are naturally loud and impossible to ignore. Go intercept Julian. Draw his focus away from the sofas. I will approach the youngest partner while they are separated."

"I am not a decoy, Kade," Dante muttered, though a challenging spark lit up his expression. 

"Consider it a tactical deployment of your most prominent character trait," I countered. "Unless you have a more efficient method of separating a narcissist from his audience."

He didn't argue. 

Instead, he adjusted the collar of his jacket and marched straight toward the VIP area, radiating enough arrogance to part the crowd instantly. 

I watched him approach Julian, waiting for the exact moment Croft’s attention snapped away from the investors and locked onto the Valez heir. 

It took less than ten seconds. 

Dante said something completely inaudible from my position, but Julian stood up abruptly, his face flushing with immediate outrage. 

The two of them stepped away from the curved sofa, drawing the surrounding students into their orbit. 

The perimeter was clear. 

I bypassed the main steps, slipping around the side of the platform and taking the empty seat directly across from the youngest creditor.

The man looked up, swirling the ice in his glass with a bored expression. 

"This section is reserved," the man warned, barely registering my presence. 

"My name is Soren Kade," I introduced myself, skipping any attempt at polite conversation. "And you are Marcus Vance, a junior acquisitions director for the firm that liquidated Meridian Ventures twenty years ago."

Vance stopped swirling his drink. 

The boredom vanished and was quickly replaced by a sudden wariness. He sat up straighter, assessing me with the calculated caution of a man who suddenly realized he was out of his depth. 

"Victor Kade’s son," Vance murmured, setting his glass on the low table. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you tracked me down. The Vanguard assignment went live this afternoon. You want historical data."

"I want the unredacted truth," I clarified, resting my arms on my knees and leaning forward to eliminate the distance between us. "The files provided by the university are heavily sanitized. You were part of the secondary audit team during the fallout. I need the exact sequence of asset transfers from the final week before the bankruptcy."

Vance scoffed, shaking his head. "I am a guest at this event. I am not handing over confidential liquidation records just because a Kade demands them. Do your own homework."

"If I do my own homework, I will undoubtedly find the massive discrepancy in the offshore accounts your firm failed to report to the federal regulators," I stated, keeping my tone perfectly conversational. "The numbers in the initial briefing do not balance. Someone in your office skimmed a percentage of the debt before finalizing the paperwork. If I calculate the exact deficit and include it in my final Vanguard presentation, your oversight becomes public record."

The color drained out of his face. He glanced nervously toward the dance floor, ensuring no one was listening, before dropping his voice to a whisper. 

"You have absolutely no proof of that."

"I am a Kade," I reminded him, utilizing the reputation I usually despised. "I do not need proof to initiate a devastating audit. I just need to mention it to the right investors tomorrow morning."

He swallowed hard and his fingers twitched against the fabric of his trousers. 

The music continued to pound around us, but the space between the sofa and the table felt entirely isolated. 

"It wasn't an oversight," Vance finally confessed, running a hand over his mouth. "The money wasn't skimmed. It was diverted."

"By whom?" I demanded. 

"I don't know the actual name," he insisted quickly, pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it with trembling fingers. "It was routed through a ghost corporation. We were ordered to leave it off the primary ledger by someone way above our pay grade. I have the routing number saved in an old encrypted file. I can give you that, but nothing else."

"Send it," I instructed, pulling out my own device. 

He hastily typed in a sequence of commands, transferring a single document to my encrypted university address. 

The second the confirmation pinged on my screen, Vance stood up, abandoning his drink completely. 

"Do not involve me in this anymore," he warned, turning and walking swiftly toward the exit. 

I opened the file immediately, ignoring the chaotic party surrounding me. 

The document contained a single offshore routing digit, but it was the attached secondary authorization code that made my blood run cold. 

Dante suddenly dropped onto the sofa beside me, breathing heavily from whatever verbal war he had just waged against Julian. 

"Croft is currently threatening to call campus security," Dante announced, glancing over at my screen. "Did you get the historical ledgers?"

"No," I answered, staring at the authorization code. I recognized the alphanumeric pattern instantly. "I got something infinitely worse."

Dante frowned, leaning closer until his shoulder pressed firmly against mine. "What are you looking at?"

"This routing number didn't belong to your grandfather, and it didn't belong to my father," I revealed, turning the screen so he could see the glaring proof.

"It belongs to the Blackridge University executive endowment fund.”