"Hey! Give that phone back!" Elena shrieked, lunging forward.

Captain Miller sidestepped her clumsy grab. He slid the silver smartphone into his tactical vest pocket without breaking eye contact with me.

He snapped his heavy boots together, dipped his broad shoulders, and executed a crisp, ninety-degree bow.

"Ms. Halloway," Miller rumbled, his deep voice filling the room. "The perimeter is secure. Awaiting your orders."

Elena froze. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. The designer bronzer on her cheeks looked absurd against her suddenly pale skin.

"What are you doing?" she stammered, her voice cracking. "Are you deaf? I am Elena Thorne. My father pays your entire security contract!"

"Marcus Thorne pays for the residential estate," I corrected her, tapping my fingernail against the mahogany desk. "I own the security firm that patrols this tower. Captain Miller works for me."

Elena shook her head violently. "That is a lie. My father told me he handles the security here."

"Your father tells you a lot of things," I said. "Most of them are designed to keep you quiet and compliant. Captain Miller, escort the applicant out. She failed the interview."

"Understood," Miller replied.

"Do not touch me!" Elena screamed.

Miller pivoted. His massive hands shot out, clamping onto Elena's wrists. He wrenched both her arms sharply behind her back in a single, fluid motion.

"Get off me!" Elena thrashed wildly, kicking her legs backward.

Her right foot twisted at a sharp angle. A loud snap echoed across the room.

The four-inch stiletto separated completely from the sole of her ivory shoe.

Deprived of her balance, Elena pitched sideways. Miller released his grip just enough to avoid pulling her shoulder out of its socket, and she crashed hard onto the Persian rug. Her tailored skirt hiked up her thighs, exposing her scraped knees.

"My shoe!" she gasped, clutching her ankle. "You broke my limited-edition shoe!"

I walked around the desk. My flat soles made no sound on the floorboards. I stopped right next to her sprawled form and planted my shoe squarely over the severed ivory heel, grinding it into the rug.

Elena glared up at me, her chest heaving.

I held out my hand. Julian immediately stepped forward and placed a thick manila folder into my palm.

I tossed it down. The heavy stack of papers smacked Elena right in the face before scattering across her chest and the floor.

"What is this garbage?" she spat, batting the pages away.

"Your real resume," I said. "Three years of offshore wire transfers. Embezzled funds from the Thorne estate masked as charitable donations. Fake vendor invoices signed by you to cover your gambling debts in Monaco."

Elena stared at the top sheet. Her eyes locked onto the highlighted bank routing numbers.

"You forged Marcus's signature on a two-million-dollar loan last November," I continued, pointing to a specific page near her elbow. "You funneled the cash through a shell company in the Caymans. Did you really think no one would notice?"

"You hacked my private accounts," Elena whispered, her voice trembling. "That is illegal."

"I ran a standard background check on a potential Vice President," I replied. "You provided your social security number on the application. The rest was public record if you know where to look."

"Those are lies," Elena insisted, though she did not bend down to pick up the papers. "My accountants handle everything. If there is a discrepancy, it is their fault."

"Your accountants did not sign the checks to the Bellagio," I said. "Your accountants did not purchase a yacht under a dummy corporation. You drained the estate's emergency fund to float your lifestyle."

"I am the heir!" she shouted. "It is my money anyway! Marcus will leave it all to me!"

"Marcus will cut you off the second he sees this," I corrected her. "You are officially disqualified from the position."

"You have no right to judge me!" Elena yelled, scrambling to her feet. She wobbled heavily, one foot bare, the other still strapped into a useless pump. "I did what I had to do to maintain my status. You do not understand the pressure of being a Thorne!"

"I understand you are a thief," I said. "And if you ever step foot in my building again, I will mail those documents to the IRS."

"You think you won?" she snarled, her face twisted with pure hatred. "You think a few fake bank statements will stop me?"

"Leave," Miller warned, taking a step toward her.

Elena backed away, snatching her Kelly bag off the floor. She pointed a trembling finger at my face.

"You will be the one thrown out of this conglomerate!" she screamed. "You hear me? You are nothing! I will make sure the board rips this company right out of your hands!"

She spun around and hobbled out the door, her uneven gait loud and frantic down the marble hallway.

Miller looked at me. "Do you want a permanent ban placed on her ID?"

"Yes," I said. "And update the lobby facial recognition."

"Right away, ma'am." He signaled his men, and they filed out of the executive suite, closing the heavy oak door behind them.

The room settled into a heavy silence.

Julian walked over to the mini-fridge tucked into the corner credenza. He pulled out a glass bottle, cracked the seal, and poured the clear liquid over a handful of ice cubes.

He handed me the glass. The condensation chilled my palm.

"You poked a very angry bear," Julian said, his tone flat.

"Elena is not a bear," I replied, taking a sip. The ice water stung my throat in a good way. "She is a cornered rat."

"I am not talking about the fake Thorne," Julian clarified. He adjusted his charcoal suit jacket. "I am talking about Director Damon. He personally sponsored her application. You humiliating her is a direct insult to him."

"Damon needs to learn his place."

"He holds three seats on the executive board," Julian reminded me. "He brought in the European investors last quarter. He has the ear of the chairman. He will not ignore this insult."

"Damon backed her because he wants the Thorne estate's shipping contracts," I said. "He thought placing Elena in my department would give him control over the supply chain."

"And now you ruined his pipeline," Julian said. "He promised those contracts to the Europeans. Without Elena inside the firm, he has nothing to offer them."

"That sounds like a personal problem for Damon."

"He will make it your problem," Julian warned. "He has been looking for an excuse to push you out since you took over the division. Assaulting his hand-picked candidate gives him the perfect ammunition."

"Allow him to try." I walked back to my desk and set the glass down. "I have enough leverage on him to keep him silent."

"Leverage only works if you use it before they strike," Julian said. "Damon is not the type to wait around."

The office door burst open. It hit the wall stopper with a violent crash.

A man in a navy pinstripe suit stormed into the room. His silver hair was slicked back, and his jaw was locked tight.

Director Damon marched straight to my desk. He did not look at Julian. He did not acknowledge the broken glass still littering the far side of the rug.

He raised his right hand and slammed a thick, leather-bound document flat onto the mahogany surface.

The gold-foil crest of the conglomerate's official seal gleamed directly under the center light.