Chapter 5 - The Red FileIt was Thomas Vance, Marcus Vance’s eldest son and the executive vice-president of Vance Global Logistics. He looked pale, sweating profusely despite the freezing air-conditioning of the ballroom, clutching a thick red leather folder in his trembling hands.
Preston’s expression darkened instantly. The seductive warmth of the dance floor vanished, replaced by the lethal coldness of a predator sensing blood in the water.
“Speak, Thomas,” Preston commanded, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl.
Thomas swallowed hard, his terrified eyes darting from Preston to me, lingering for a second on the emerald silk of my dress before rushing to speak. “It’s… it’s the audit files from the Brooklyn port terminals. Someone accessed the secure mainframe twenty minutes ago. They’re dumping our shipping ledgers directly to federal investigators and the Securities and Exchange Commission.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Port terminals. Shipping ledgers.
I knew those numbers. I had audited them three weeks ago during the quarterly compliance sweep.
Preston didn't flinch. He didn't panic. He simply extended his hand, took the red leather folder from Thomas’s shaking grip, and flipped it open with terrifying composure.
“Who authorized the breach?” Preston asked quietly.
“We… we don’t know,” Thomas stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “The firewall was bypassed using an administrative override key. Only two people in the entire firm have level-four clearance to use that master key. You… and your chief financial controller.”
“Arthur Sterling,” Preston stated, though it wasn't a question.
“He’s gone, sir,” Thomas whispered. “His apartment is empty. His private jet took off for Zurich forty-five minutes ago. He sold us out to the feds.”
The implication hung in the air like a ticking bomb. Arthur Sterling had been one of Preston’s oldest, most trusted advisors—a man who knew every legitimate asset and every legacy gray-market connection the Marchetti family operated. If Sterling handed those files to federal prosecutors, the entire empire—legitimate and illegitimate—would face immediate RICO indictments.
“Mr. Marchetti,” I said, stepping forward, my financial analyst instincts overriding my terror. “Sterling couldn't have dumped those files alone.”
Preston looked down at me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Explain.”
“Level-four clearance requires dual-authentication tokens,” I said rapidly, my brain racing through the security protocols I had reviewed last month. “Sterling had his token, but the system requires a secondary cryptographic key to bypass the federal compliance filter. A key that only exists inside the physical mainframe server room on the forty-first floor.”
Thomas Vance stared at me as if I were speaking ancient Greek. “How do you know that?”
“Because I spent three weeks rewriting the firewall architecture after the last audit,” I snapped, turning back to Preston. “Sterling didn't just walk out of his office. He had help from inside the building. Someone physically inserted a bypass drive into Server Rack B downstairs.”
Preston stared at me for three long seconds. Instead of panic, a terrifying, razor-sharp smile broke across his face—the smile of a warrior who had just discovered where the enemy was hiding.
“Server Rack B,” Preston repeated softly. He reached out and grabbed my hand, his grip unyielding and absolute. “Come with me.”
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“Preston, wait!” I protested as he began dragging me off the dance floor, parting the sea of shocked socialites like Moses parting the Red Sea. “Where are we going? The federal investigators could already be on their way!”
“We aren't waiting for the federal investigators, Paige,” Preston muttered, his jaw set in stone as we marched toward the private elevator bank. “We are going to pay a visit to our internal leak.”
