Anna's POV
I was reviewing quarterly forecasts when Rachel burst through the door without knocking something she never did unless it was urgent.
"Ms. Shaw," she said, slightly breathless. Her usually immaculate appearance betrayed haste loose strands escaping her tight bun. In her hands was a small wooden box, not unlike the rabbit carving. "I found something."
I set my pen down and leaned back.
"The auction house?"
She nodded, placing the box on my desk with deliberate care. "It's from the same collection. The auction manager gave it to me personally."
It was simple yet elegant clearly handcrafted from the same wood as the rabbit. I ran my fingers over its smooth grain and felt an odd shiver crawl up my spine. Inside was a folded note, scrawled in an unfamiliar hand: "Still has a conscience."
"'Still has a conscience,'" I read aloud, brow furrowing.
Rachel watched me closely. "What do you think it means?"
I shut the box with a decisive snap. "It means someone's playing games." I pushed it aside. "The rabbit was just something I carved as a teenager. It's not important."
"But—"
"We have more pressing matters," I cut in. "The Phoenix Project. And whoever was at the hotel."
Rachel straightened, professionalism returning like armor. "Speaking of Phoenix I have an update on Sean."
My interest piqued. "Go on."
"He's handling Lucy Taylor better than expected," she said with the faintest smirk. "Yesterday, she stormed into his office, clearly trying to rattle him. He didn't even flinch. Refused to shake her hand. Kept everything strictly professional focused on project discrepancies only."
I allowed myself a brief, proud smile. "So our soft spoken Sean has teeth after all."
Rachel nodded. "He's already flagged something and asked that you come to the Phoenix offices ASAP."
I checked my watch. "Clear my schedule for the next three hours. Let's see what our wolf in a suit has uncovered."
By the time my car pulled up to the Phoenix Project facility, the situation had already escalated. Raised voices echoed from the main research floor one of them unmistakably Lucy's shrill bark.
Inside, Sean stood at his desk, holding a manila folder like a shield. Lucy was practically vibrating with fury.
"Ms. Shaw," Sean said with relief when he spotted me. "Thank you for coming."
Lucy whirled around, expression flipping from rage to faux concern. "Anna! Thank God. Your... employee is withholding critical information."
I ignored her. "Sean, what have you found?"
Lucy tried again. "I heard Shaw Corp made a discovery, but Sean says Simpson Group personnel aren't qualified to even ask about it."
"I believe we follow a chain of command here," I said coolly. "Sean reports to me. Not to you."
She stiffened. "As project manager, I have the right to—"
"As project manager," I cut in, "you wait until the investigation is concluded. Just like the police don't share evidence mid case."
Sean handed me the folder. Inside was a report marked in red ink:
"Third Batch Fine Motor Movement Calibration VOID."
Trevor Torres's signature was at the bottom, dated a month ago.
Before I could speak, Jack Simpson stormed in, fury radiating off him.
"What the hell is this?" he roared, pointing at Sean. "You're letting him run an investigation?"
Sean stood his ground, silent but tense. Jack prowled closer like a predator.
"Do you even know who this thing is?" he snarled. "He worked at Olympus Club. He was a prostitute."
The word echoed through the stunned silence.
A few staff members gasped. Others exchanged awkward glances or looked away.
Jack's voice climbed. "This... trash is managing your golden project? This is who you think is qualified?"
Rachel appeared beside me, subtly ushering employees out of the room.
"Are you finished?" I asked Jack, my voice icy calm.
He wasn't. "You bring filth into a professional environment and expect anyone to take him seriously?"
I moved beside Sean, close enough to make a statement. "Let me get this straight you're attacking someone's qualifications based on their past job?"
Jack's face burned. "It's not the same—"
"You're right," I said smoothly. "Sean has a degree from MIT in Financial Engineering. Lucy," I turned just enough to gesture toward her, "has a marketing diploma from a community college. Yet somehow you're comfortable with her managing the project."
Lucy gasped. "How dare you—"
"I dare because I co-own this project," I replied. Then, back to Jack, "Your double standards are showing. Not a good look."
Jack's fury flared. "Get him out. Now. Or I swear—"
"Or what?" I stepped forward, voice dropping. "You don't get to dictate who I hire anymore. This is my oversight team. My decision."
Jack's composure snapped. "Always so goddamn stubborn. So sure you're better than everyone else!"
"Pot, kettle," I said, unshaken.
His hands clenched, white-knuckled. "You're pushing me, Anna. Don't make me do something we'll both regret."
His words made me pause. How was I pushing him? What exactly was he threatening to do?
But I refused to let his tantrum derail us.
"If you're done, Mr. Simpson," I said, tone final, "please leave. This is Shaw Corp's office space."
Jack hesitated, eyes dark with unspoken menace. "This isn't over," he said as he backed away.
No. It wasn't. But next time, I'd be ready.