Page 36 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
"These aren't just irregularities in the Novare audit," Wilton continues, tapping the folder. "We've found anomalies across multiple client systems. Accounts you've never worked on. Projects outside your clearance level."
Chanel opens the folder, and I catch glimpses of access logs, timestamps, security flags—a trail of digital breadcrumbs, all pointing to her.
"These aren't mine." She looks up, eyes flashing. "I didn't access these files."
"The logs say otherwise."
"The logs are wrong." Her voice rises slightly. The first crack in her composure. "Someone is using my credentials without authorization."
Wilton exchanges glances with Phillip. I recognize the look—the silent communication of men who've already made their decision and are simply going through motions.
"In light of these concerns," Phillip says, not quite meeting Chanel's eyes, "the board believes it would be best if you stepped away from the Novare audit. Temporarily, of course. While we investigate."
Chanel goes still. Utterly still, in the way I remember from our worst fights—the calm before a storm breaks.
"I see." She closes the folder with deliberate care. "You've made your decision."
"It's not personal, Chanel." Phillip’s use of her first name is a calculated intimacy. "It's about protecting the firm's reputation."
"Of course." She stands, gathering her things with precise movements. "Then I'll make this simple for you. I resign. Effective immediately."
The words hit like a physical blow. I stand without thinking, chair scraping against hardwood.
"No."
All eyes turn to me—including Chanel's, sharp with warning.
"No," I repeat, addressing the partners now. My voice drops to a register I've never used in her presence before. Something darker. Something I keep carefully leashed. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.
"Novare Global Strategies will not accept Ms. Warren's resignation, nor will we continue this audit under different leadership."
I move around the table, hands in my pockets, each step deliberate. Not pacing—stalking. This is territory I know better than they do. Power. Intimidation. The language of men who don't need to raise their voices to be feared.
"Mr. Giannetti," Wilton begins, "this isn't your decision?—"
"It absolutely is." I stop behind Cameron's chair, close enough that he has to twist uncomfortably to maintain eye contact. "I thought I made myself clear during our last conversation. Perhaps I wasn't explicit enough."
I tap my fingers once on Cameron's chair back, feeling him flinch beneath my hand.
"Let me explain what happens if you remove Ms. Warren."
Another tap. The sound sharp in the silence.
"First, Novare terminates all engagement with RSV. Immediately. That's ten million in billables. Gone."
I circle the table, noting how they shift in their seats, avoiding my gaze. Men twice my age suddenly looking small.
"Second, I call Marcus Henley at Goldman. Kenji Chen at JP Morgan. The Whitman brothers. All clients I've personally brought to RSV over the years. All of whom owe me favors they can't afford to ignore."
I stop beside Wilton, close enough to speak in a voice meant only for him, though everyone strains to hear.
"Third, I have personal conversations with every CEO and CFO in my contact list."
Phillip’s throat works visibly. I straighten, addressing the room again.
"But those are just the legitimate consequences." I adjust my cufflinks, a gesture that draws all eyes to my hands. Hands that have built and dismantled empires. "We haven't touched the ones that won't make the papers."
I lean forward, palms flat on the table. "You've been investigating Ms. Warren's digital footprint? Interesting. I wonder what I'd find if I had my security team crawl through RSV's systems. The offshore accounts. The questionable clients. The agreements that never quite made it to the compliance team."
