Chapter 4: Find Her!

Not a single soul dared to utter a word in the boardroom.

The six high-priced financial strategists stood frozen, and Daniel Brooks, the CFO—who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week kept his eyes glued to the mahogany tabletop under Laurent’s crushing stare.

“I need answers,” he ordered again, louder this time. His gaze cut across every worried face. “You were hired to stop this.”

Nervous glances passed between them until one man cleared his throat.

“We’re still investigating.”

Laurent let out a cold, humorless scoff. He strode over to the stack of six pristine folders sitting on the table—six expensive opinions, six elaborate strategies, and zero actual results.

He swept his arm across the table, slamming the folders onto the floor with a deafening thud that startled everyone.

“I hired six of you,” he said, walking slowly behind their chairs. “Six.”

His eyes swept the room. “And Helios is still bleeding.”

Daniel lowered his gaze. The silence stretched until he finally broke it.

“We don’t have proof of an external attack.”

“Then it's internal,” Laurent shot back.

He returned to the head of the table, picked up his tablet, and unlocked the screen.

“At 2:14 yesterday afternoon, someone moved twelve million dollars through a dormant subsidiary.”

Daniel’s face drained of color. “What?”

Laurent turned the tablet toward him.

“At 2:16, three of our institutional investors received an anonymous report claiming Helios was about to default on two major obligations.”

He tapped the screen.

“By 2:19, one of them started selling.”

Another tap.

“By 2:31, the others followed.”

Daniel stared, jaw slack. “That’s… impossible.”

“Exactly.”

One of the lawyers leaned forward, squinting at the data. “Could this information have been leaked by a third party?”

Laurent scanned the room.

“That’s what I intend to find out.” His gaze locked on Daniel. “Who authorized that transfer?”

Daniel hesitated, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. “I’ll… I’ll have to check the logs.”

“You’ll check?”

“The transaction went through one of our dormant subsidiaries. I don’t oversee every capital movement personally.”

“You are the Chief Financial Officer.”

“Yes.”

“So who does?”

Daniel swallowed. Lying to Laurent Crawford was a career death sentence, and he knew it.

“The treasury division.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“Marcus Cho.”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “Call him. Now.”

Daniel’s hands trembled as he dialed. No answer. He tried again—still nothing.

Laurent held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”

Daniel froze. “Sir?”

“Your phone. Now”

Reluctantly, he placed it on the table.

Laurent scrolled through the messages. One from Marcus Cho stood out immediately:

(We need to talk before you speak to Laurent.)

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Interesting, Mr. Brooks.”

Daniel went pale. “Sir, I can explain—”

“You’re fired.” Laurent’s voice was ice. “Clear your desk and drop every company-owned asset at security on your way out.”

“Mr. Crawford, I’ve protected this company for twelve years—”

“And yesterday someone moved twelve million dollars through an account under your oversight.”

“I didn’t authorize it.”

“No, but you sure as hell knew about it,” Laurent snapped, tapping the screen to lock his tablet, signaling the end of the debate.

Daniel stared in disbelief. “So that’s it? I’m fired?”

Laurent didn’t blink.

Daniel’s jaw clenched. “You’re making a massive mistake. You’ll regret this.”

“Get out!”

The threats meant nothing. Daniel had been with him for twelve years—trusted with figures, decisions, sensitive information Laurent never handed out lightly. He had believed Daniel understood what Helios meant to him.

Now the man walked out with a warning on his lips.

Laurent’s fury sharpened.

“Find out where he’s headed,” he ordered a guard the moment the door closed.

“Yes, sir.”

He turned back to the table, disappointment settling under the anger.

“Solutions. Now. Or the rest of you will join him.”

He hated betrayal.

What he hated more was not knowing how deep it ran.

If Daniel knew something, others might as well. Someone inside Helios had moved twelve million and fed false information to investors.

One of the strategists cleared his throat.

Laurent looked at him.

“I know someone who might handle this, sir,” the man said, voice tight with nerves. “She’s… she’s an independent crisis consultant and an elite off-the-books negotiator.”

Laurent waved the suggestion away.

“I don’t need another strategist. You’ve already given me enough useless ideas today.”

The man didn’t back down.

“She’s not a financial strategist, Mr. Crawford.”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “Then who is she?”

The strategist hesitated, as if the wrong name could cost him his job.

“Her name is Lyra Quinn.”

Laurent frowned. The name meant nothing. He searched his memory—contacts, lawyers, investors and came up empty.

“How good is she?”

“Good enough that governments have used her.”

That changed the air in the room.

“Governments?”

“Yes, sir.”

Laurent considered it. He disliked uncertainty, but he hated helplessness more. Right now he was dangerously close to both.

Before he could answer, the glass doors swung open.

Owen, the Chief Technology Officer, didn’t bother with an apology. Tie loose, sleeves rolled, tablet clutched in his hand.

“We found another transfer,” he said before the door had even shut.

Laurent’s grip tightened on the edge of the table.

“Where?”

“One of the dormant legacy accounts.”

“How much?”

Owen hesitated for a fraction of a second; dangerous for a man whose job was built on cold data.

“Thirty million, sir."

Laurent closed his eyes briefly. Thirty million. He had just removed the obvious suspect, and the bleeding had only gotten worse.

He pressed his fingers hard against his temple.

“Who authorized it?”

Owen stepped closer. The tablet’s glow washed across his face.

“It was done using your father’s authorization code.”

Laurent froze completely. “My father’s code?”

“Yes, sir.”

“My father has been dead for over two years.” The words felt absurd even as he said them. “How is that possible?”

A cold wave of realization washed over his anger. Without a second thought, he whipped around to face the strategist who had spoken moments before.

“Find her. The crisis consultant—Lyra Quinn. Double whatever the government paid her. I want her in this building as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir” the strategist answered without hesitation and left.

Laurent's voice dropped, lethal and clear.

“I want to know who is sitting at my father’s terminal.”