The discreet downtown office was sparse, almost aggressively sterile. No personal touches, just a glass desk and two black leather chairs. It was a stark contrast to the opulent Caldwell Corp. headquarters.
Robert Jensen sat across from me, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of my strained composure. He looked exactly as I remembered him: impeccably dressed, a predator in a tailored suit.
“They’re going to try and bury you, Evelyn,” he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. “Garrett and his sister. Standard play.”
“I know,” I replied, my hands clasped tightly. “That’s why I called you.”
He leaned back, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. “Good. We’ll fight fire with… less conventional fire.”
Robert then outlined his strategy. He had already activated his network, deploying a team to delve deep into Caldwell Corp.’s financials. He spoke of “forensic accounting specialists” and “data mining experts.”
But he also used phrases like “leveraging gray areas” and “expedited intelligence gathering.” He casually mentioned bypassing traditional audit trails and exploiting “regulatory blind spots.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. These were the methods, the same shadowy dealings, that had led to his own disgraced exit from high finance years ago. The kind that had me growing up with a father who was a whispered legend in certain circles, not a respected executive.
“These methods… are they strictly legal, Robert?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He met my gaze, his eyes hard. “They’re effective. And they’re fast. You want justice, Evelyn, or you want to play by rules they’ve already broken?”
The choice hung in the air, heavy and sharp. My past, the one I had meticulously built a wall around, was suddenly present in this sterile room. I was staring at the ethical compromise I would have to make for justice, a path my father knew all too well.
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