The conference room at Hawthorne Industries was a world of sterile white and gleaming glass, a stark contrast to the old-world shadows of his grandmother’s library. For forty-eight hours, Caspian had commanded a team of his best forensic accountants, their faces pale under the recessed lighting as they stared at glowing screens.
The results were maddening.
“It’s clean, Mr. Hawthorne,” the lead accountant said, swiping a hand across his tired face. “Immaculate. Every donation is logged. Every expenditure is itemized and paid to a legitimate vendor. There’s nothing here.”
A dead end. Caspian felt a familiar surge of helpless frustration. He paced the length of the glass wall, the city sprawling below him, indifferent. He had thrown the full weight of his company at Isolde’s charity, and it had yielded nothing.
He had to be missing something. Isolde wasn’t just a liar; she was arrogant. She would have made a mistake.
He closed his eyes, forcing his mind back. Back through the dinners, the galas, the endless evenings spent listening to her talk about her noble work. His atonement to Lyra demanded he remember every painful detail.
A memory surfaced. A dinner party months ago. Isolde, holding a glass of champagne, laughing as a donor praised her efficiency.
“The key,” she had said, her voice bright with self-satisfaction, “was finding the right people from the start. A brilliant but discreet boutique consulting firm. They handled the entire setup. Maximum efficiency, minimum fuss.”
Brilliant but discreet.
Caspian’s eyes snapped open. The fraud wasn’t in the foundation’s books. The books were the public face, the clean facade. The fraud was in the entities the foundation paid.
He turned back to the room. “Stop investigating the foundation.”
The accountants looked up, confused.
“Start investigating its vendors,” Caspian ordered, his voice sharp with newfound purpose. “Every consulting firm, every supplier, every contractor on this list. Start with the one she used for the initial incorporation.”
He walked to the whiteboard and uncapped a black marker. He remembered the name. He remembered the smug look on her face when she’d said it.
He wrote two words on the board.
Vanguard Strategic Solutions.
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