Chapter 2

“Oh?” I fold my arms across my chest, leaning back in my chair. “What words would you ascribe to it then?”

He levels me with another amused gaze, which only makes me madder. I try my best to hide it.

“We’re simply checking in on a foundation that our company funds. That’s it.”

I grit my teeth, trying to wipe any unpleasant expression off my face. I don’t believe him for one minute, but a combative attitude on my part isn’t going to help the situation.

I stand from my desk. “Let me show you around a bit. I’ve also set up an office for you.”

I stride toward the door, brushing past him in the small room. The door across from my office used to be a storage space. We’d keep old art supplies and chairs in there. I’ve moved most of the larger things to various other closets throughout the building, and I found an old desk to take its place. I swing the door open and let Julian enter.

He steps inside, a slight frown of displeasure on his face. I can’t help but feel satisfied by his disappointment. “This is your office for the time being,” I state.

He purses his lips, nodding slowly. “You can’t move some of this stuff?” he eventually asks, gesturing to the piles of canvasses in the corner, along with a few folding chairs.

I raise my eyebrows. “Your stay here is temporary, correct?”

“I suppose,” he relents.

“And you’re welcome to find other places for them if they bother you that much.”

He seems surprised that I’d suggest he do the work himself. I wonder when he last had to do any kind of manual labor. By the looks of him, probably quite a while ago.

“Maybe we can have an office decorating party,” he suggests with a smile, cocking his head playfully.

“You can rearrange your office later,” I say curtly, turning on my heel and sauntering down the hallway, not even glancing behind me to make sure he’s following. I hear the pattering of his footsteps after me.

This hallway leads to a much larger one, with classrooms on either side. I gesture to them as we pass. “This is where we hold workshops and classes. Most are youth oriented, but a few are for adults as well.” It’s a Monday morning, so the classrooms are currently empty. Most of them are held in the afternoons and evenings.

“What kind of classes are they?” Julian asks as we walk.

“Acrylic and watercolor painting are the most popular ones, but we have a huge variety of art mediums we teach here. We’re even starting a pottery class next semester.” I’d been pushing to get pottery approved basically since I started working here last year. With the expensive kilns and materials,not to mention a qualified teacher,it had felt like an uphill battle. But we’d finally gotten everything sorted, and I’m so excited for the class to debut in the fall.

“Pottery,” Julian muses. “Sexy.”

Shocked, I shoot him a perplexed look over my shoulder. “Hardly.”

He smirks. “What? You’ve never seen Ghost?”

I bristle in annoyance, knowing what he’s getting at. Instead of dignifying his comments with a response, I simply keep walking.

I show Julian around the rest of the building,a handful of classrooms, administrative offices, a lunchroom, and then I bring him back to our offices.

I shoot him a tight-lipped smile. “Let me know if I can do anything for you while you’re here.” I turn to head back into my office when Julian stops me.

“Could you get me a record of the foundation’s expenses? Along with any incoming money, funds raised, etc.?”

“Sure. I’ll email you the files.” I nod curtly. “I can also send over some of our promotional materials. You know, success stories, kids who have gone on to college, kids who we’ve helped with the scholarship program,”

“Just the expenses should be fine,” Julian says with a wave of his hand.

He turns to head into his office, when I stop him, frustrated. “You know, the foundation is more than just numbers on a piece of paper. Looking at just the numbers, you won’t see the impact we’ve had on the community. We’ve helped so many people. We’re more than an expense record.” I feel my voice rising, and I force myself to cut it off. Blowing up at him won’t help. I lock my jaw and take a deep breath, leveling him with a gaze that I’m hoping is confident yet stern.

That stupid smirk returns to Julian’s face. A smirk I’m becoming all too familiar with. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he says simply and walks into his office.

I spin on my heel and make my way to my desk, burying my head in my hands. I take a few deep breaths. While I hadn’t known exactly what to expect from Julian Mercer, I sure hadn’t expected this. Not a cocky, young asshole who obviously isn’t taking this as seriously as he should.

I bite my lip, staring off to the side at the wall where a variety of kids’ drawings litter the drywall. I’ve had a myriad of dreams over the years, and when I landed this job a year ago, I never dreamed it would turn into what it has. A job that’s given me purpose, a real mission.

After being here for a year and seeing exactly what this foundation does for kids in this community, I’m more determined than ever to prove to the Kings that it’s worth keeping up. Whatever Julian Mercer decides about the Elena Mercer Foundation, I’m certainly not going down without a fight.

The next morning, the foundation’s payment system stopped accepting cards. Staff could not order meals, tutors could not access their lesson plans, and three parents waited outside the office with cancellation notices. I called Julian before I called the bank.

“Is this your decision?” I asked.

“It is my review,” he said. “Do not confuse a review with a promise.”

I walked to his office carrying the weekly attendance figures, the cancelled grants, and a list of children who would lose services if the doors closed. He read every page without interrupting. Then he turned the last sheet around. Someone had added a column showing that I had approved expenses I had never seen.

The signature matched mine closely enough to fool a quick audit. It did not match the pressure of my pen or the dates on my calendar. I told Julian the column was forged. He asked whether I could prove it before the board met at noon.

We went to the records room together. The access log showed my badge entering at 2:17 a.m., when I had been on a recorded call with a parent. The camera for that corridor had been replaced the previous week by a contractor funded through Mercer Dynamics. Julian stared at the log, then handed me his keycard.

“You have six hours,” he said. “Find the original footage, and I will keep the foundation open.”

The keycard opened a private archive. Inside, a folder named after my mother held an invoice for the replacement cameras and a note in Julian’s handwriting: Ask why she resigned. I looked at him. His expression had lost its polished distance.

Before I could ask, the archive alarm began to ring. A red light appeared over the door. Someone had locked us inside with the forged ledger between us.