Chapter 3 - The Viper's Ledger: How Three Years of Hidden Numbers Became My Deadliest Weapon
As the music swirled around us, Larkin’s grip on my waist tightened. He wasn't dancing to enjoy the music; he was holding me captive in plain sight, trying to dissect the woman who had fooled him for over a thousand days.
"You knew Thomas was skimming," Larkin murmured, guiding me through a sharp turn that sent the black silk flaring around our legs. "Why didn't you bring the audit to my desk?"
"Because three months ago, you would have had Thomas killed and replaced him with someone even more ambitious and twice as smart," I said calmly. "A stupid, greedy cousin is easy to monitor. A clever replacement is a wildcard. I kept Thomas in place because his predictable theft acted as a lightning rod for forensic accountants looking at your balance sheets."
Larkin let out a low, dark chuckle that sent shivers across my skin. "You played internal syndicate politics from a cubicle next to the supply closet."
"I have a master’s degree in forensic accounting from Columbia, Larkin. I didn't take this job because I was desperate for a typing position. I took it because when my father died with ninety thousand dollars of medical debt tied to a loan shark named Victor Vance, your syndicate bought the note."
Larkin’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine recognition crossing his features. "Arthur Woods. The chief accountant for the Vance docks."
"Victor Vance killed my father when the books didn't balance," I said, my voice turning to pure ice. "And then you swallowed Vance’s entire operation whole. I stayed near you to make sure Vance’s old associates never came back to collect what they thought was owed to them. I protected your flank while you were busy playing the corporate warlord."
The waltz ended with a dramatic crescendo. Larkin didn't release my hand. He brought his lips down to my knuckles, his eyes locked onto mine, defying the whispers that swept through the ballroom.
"Vance’s old associates are in this room tonight," Larkin said quietly, his voice dropping into a deadly register. "Dimitri Sokolov is sitting at Table Four. He just signaled for a private sit-down in the conservatory."
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"I know," I replied, adjusting the gunmetal strap on my shoulder. "He’s been moving heavy weapons through the Red Hook terminals without paying your transit fee. Page forty-seven of last month’s logistics ledger."
Larkin stared at me for a long second, an intoxicating, lethal respect dawning in his eyes. "Penelope. Come with me. Let’s go make Dimitri Sokolov bleed on his own contracts."
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