The quiet scratch of the pen against paper filled my office. My head throbbed, but I forced myself to concentrate. Page after page, signature after signature—contracts, approvals, documents. Lately, work had become my refuge. Numbers and facts never lied. People did.
Just as I reached for the final signature, a soft knock broke the rhythm.
“Come in,” I said without lifting my gaze.
Bennett, my father’s longtime butler, stepped in. His normally composed expression carried a subtle unease. “Miss Veronica,” he began carefully, “there’s something you should see.”
I arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”
He handed me a folder. “The accounting department sent over Mr. Sebastian’s latest credit card statements. There’s… a substantial amount of unusual spending. Do you want me to continue processing them?”
I frowned and flipped open the folder. My eyes scanned the charges—luxury jewelry, designer handbags, high-end resorts, cruise bookings.
All recent. All outrageous.
My throat went dry. “All of these… from this month?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bennett said softly. “Everything was charged to your account. His secondary card is linked to yours.”