Chapter 2- KAEL SANDERS

“Mr. Sanders… Mr. Sanders…”

I turned my head slowly, fixing my gaze on the short, scrawny man seated across from me.

He had been rambling for what felt like an hour, his voice pitching higher with every fabricated projection he threw my way.

“Ha…” he laughed nervously, adjusting his tie under my silent scrutiny.

“I’m sure you didn’t quite catch what I said. I don’t mind starting over from the beginning of the pitch.”

Of course you don’t.

I leaned back in my chair, studying him carefully.

His fingers fidgeted against the leather file in his lap, his eyes darting between my face and the expensive minimalist décor of my office as if searching for approval in the very walls.

He was the type who would worship the ground I walked on if I allowed him within two feet of it.

“I’ll get back to you,” I said flatly, closing the file in front of me with a deliberate snap and waving my hand dismissively.

Relief flooded his face instantly, lifting the tension from his shoulders.

“Oh sure, absolutely! We look forward to hearing from you,” he said eagerly, rising from his seat.

He stretched out his hand toward me for a handshake, his smile wide, hopeful, and entirely unearned.

I stared at his hand. Then at him.

The silence stretched deliberately between us, heavy and intentional.

Seconds passed. His smile began to falter, his extended fingers twitching slightly before he stylishly withdrew his hand and shoved it into his pocket, pretending the entire gesture had never happened.

Smart decision.

“You may leave,” I said calmly. “My assistant will escort you out.”

“Of course… of course. Thank you for your time, sir.”

He turned quickly, almost tripping over his own shoes in his rush to exit.

The door clicked shut behind him, and silence reclaimed its rightful place in my office.

I exhaled slowly, allowing my gaze to drift across the piles of documents spread across my desk.

Leaning back, I let my thoughts wander into the darker corners of Kael Industries.

From the outside, the company looked like an impenetrable empire.

But internally, we were hanging on a treadmill—moving fast, looking functional, but trapped in a dangerous cycle.

The system was bleeding. Over the past few weeks, critical data files had been subtly manipulated, master registries altered, and financial trails erased.

My security protocols were unmatched, which meant this wasn't an external hack. It was an inside job.

There were rotten eggs buried deep within my own workforce—calculating, malicious players who were bold enough to sabotage the infrastructure right under my nose.

They knew the rules, they knew the blind spots, and they used compliance as a shield to hide their tracks.

A sharp, demanding buzz broke the silence.

I glanced down at my desk phone. The caller ID indicated the internal line from the Head of Human Resources.

I picked it up, pressing the receiver to my ear.

"Speak."

"Mr. Sanders, I'm calling to confirm that the directive has been executed," the HR director's voice came through, sounding highly strained.

"The off-system employment offer was routed directly to the candidate's mail as requested. She just sent her response less than two minutes ago."

"And?"

"She accepted, sir. She resumes Tuesday morning at nine."

The director paused, a heavy, hesitant silence vibrating over the line.

"But Mr. Sanders... if I may speak freely, the entire department is incredibly confused by this mandate. We reviewed her records after the file was pushed."

"You don't need to understand my mandates. You just need to process them."

"Of course, sir, but her history is... chaotic, to say the least," the director pressed, desperation making him bold.

"Three separate resignations and terminations in just five months. She was literally fired from her last job a few hours ago for severe insubordination and defying her department head. She has a dirty record, Mr. Sanders. She is an absolute liability to executive security."

"That will be all,"

I said coldly, cutting him off before he could utter another word.

I dropped the receiver back onto its cradle, silencing his protests.

A slow, dark smile formed at the corner of my mouth.

Traditional HR thought a worker who fought back was a liability. They wanted sheep. But sheep couldn't hunt wolves.

The rotten eggs hiding in my logistics and archive divisions were comfortable because they expected absolute compliance from everyone around them.

They thought they owned the system.

I pulled up the restricted background file on my tablet, bringing her digital profile into view one last time.

Quincy Hale.

I zeroed in on her attached photograph.

Even through a static digital image, she didn't look like someone who could be intimidated, bought, or broken.

And right now, a reckless, defiant wildcard was exactly the kind of weapon I needed to drop into that viper's nest.

I adjusted my cufflinks absentmindedly, staring at those amber eyes on the glowing screen.

“Let’s see how far you’re willing to go, Miss Hale.

And let’s see just how useful that fire of yours can be.”