“Close the door, Clarissa.”

“Close the door, Clarissa.”

“No.”

His eyebrows rose.

“If you’re planning to threaten me, do it with the door open.”

A strange expression crossed his face.

Respect.

Maybe amusement.

Then he said something that turned my fear into fury.

“You should be more worried about David Miller than me.”

PART 3: My boss had sold my career to save himself

Dominic placed the ledger on his desk.

“David owes people connected to my family a little over two million dollars.”

I laughed once.

Not because it was funny.

Because sometimes your brain refuses the alternative.

“My David?”

“Your managing partner.”

“He barely buys lunch without submitting an expense report.”

“He gambles.”

Dominic slid his phone across the desk.

Casino surveillance photos.

David at a blackjack table.

David signing something in a private room.

David looking twenty years older.

My chest tightened.

“He knew about these accounts?”

“Yes.”

“And assigned me anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dominic’s jaw hardened.

“Because he needed someone’s name on the audit.”

My hands went cold.

I remembered the access authorizations.

The sign-off queue.

David insisting I use his office workstation during a “server issue” Tuesday.

That little bastard.

“He planned to frame me.”

“If authorities came?”

Dominic nodded.

I sat down because my knees suddenly didn’t trust me.

I did not cry.

I wanted to.

Instead, I stared at the coffee stain on the corner of Dominic’s desk and memorized everything.

“What do you want from me?”

His expression changed.

“I want the truth about my company.”

That surprised me.

He told me Romano Holdings had inherited operations built by his father and uncles.

Some legitimate.

Some filthy.

Since taking control, he had been trying to separate them without triggering a war inside his own family.

I didn’t entirely believe him.

But I believed one thing.

David had used me.

“So here’s my condition,” I said.

Dominic leaned against his desk.

“You’re giving me conditions?”

“Yes.”

His mouth almost smiled.

“Continue.”

“I don’t alter evidence. I don’t hide crimes. I don’t sign anything I can’t defend in federal court.”

Silence.

“And David?”

“I destroy him legally.”

Dominic studied me.

“Meaning?”

“I document every forged authorization, every false instruction, every attempt to put my name where his belongs.”

“And then?”

“I decide who gets it.”

His eyes darkened.

“You’re dangerous.”

“No.”

I stood.

“I’m an auditor.”

My phone buzzed.

Samantha.

I almost ignored it.

Then another message appeared.

SAMANTHA: Did she get close enough to Romano?

A second later, it vanished.

Deleted.

But I had already seen it.

Then another message came.

Sorry. Wrong chat.

I stared at the screen.

Dominic saw my face.

“What happened?”

I looked up.

The dare.

The bar.

David.

My stomach turned.

“That kiss wasn’t an accident.”

PART 4: My best friend had helped build the trap around me

I drove straight to Samantha’s Gold Coast condo.

No warning.

No call.

Just anger.

She opened the door wearing Lululemon leggings and holding a green juice.

“Clarissa?”

I walked past her.

“Who were you texting?”

Her face changed.

Tiny movement.

Enough.

“Excuse me?”

“At 8:17.”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.”

Her condo smelled like expensive candles.

A framed photo of us from graduation sat beside her television.

That almost made it worse.

I showed her the screenshot.

Yes.

I had taken one before she deleted it.

Auditor.

Remember?

Samantha went pale.

“It’s not what you think.”

“That sentence has never improved anything.”

She sat down.

Then the story came out.

David knew Samantha’s father.

David had approached her two weeks earlier.

He told her Romano might reject Grant Thornton unless Clarissa had a personal connection to him.

He asked Samantha to get me into the same room.

Make me memorable.

Create photographs if possible.

“Photographs?”

My voice went flat.

She looked down.

“There was a photographer at the bar.”

For one second, I heard nothing.

Not traffic.

Not the HVAC.

Nothing.

They wanted evidence that I had a personal relationship with the client before the audit began.

If the numbers exploded, I wouldn’t look like an innocent employee.

I’d look compromised.

Maybe bought.

Maybe sleeping with him.

Samantha started crying.

“I needed the money.”

I stared at her.

“You have a trust fund.”

“My dad cut me off.”

“How much?”

“Twenty thousand.”