Chapter 4 - The Audit of Connor Hayes
Three days later, Connor Hayes was having a remarkably terrible morning.
Seated at his sleek desk on the top floor of the downtown Billings architectural firm, he was staring at a stack of catastrophic financial notices spread across his computer keyboard.
Within the last forty-eight hours, his life had completely imploded.
First, his landlord had served him an unexpected eviction notice, claiming the building had been sold to a holding company that was terminating all residential leases immediately. Second, his bank account had been frozen due to a sudden, aggressive federal tax audit regarding historical discrepancies in his corporate expense reports—discrepancies that could easily land him in federal prison for a decade.
And third? Jess had packed her bags and left his apartment that morning after realizing that Connor was suddenly broke, unemployed (his firm had just suspended him pending an investigation), and facing total ruin.
Panic setting in, Connor dialed his office phone to call his bank, when the heavy glass double doors of his private office swung open without warning.
Four towering men in tailored black suits walked in, flanked by a stunning, immaculately dressed woman with dark hair tied back in a tight bun.
Lucia Mancini stopped right in front of Connor’s desk, placing both hands on the polished wood and leaning down until her face was inches from his pale, sweating skin.
“Mr. Connor Hayes, I presume?” Lucia asked sweetly.
Connor swallowed hard, standing up so fast his chair rolled backward into the glass partition. “Who… who are you? You can’t be in here! Security!”
“Security is currently downstairs enjoying a very long, very expensive lunch paid for by my associates,” Lucia said calmly, straightening her blazer. “My name is Lucia Mancini. And I’m here on behalf of someone you threw out into a freezing blizzard three nights ago.”
Connor’s face turned the color of chalk. “Madison? Look, whatever she told you, it’s a misunderstanding—she was hysterical, she crashed her own car—!”
Before Connor could finish his sentence, the office door opened wider, and Adrien Mancini walked into the room.
The air in the office instantly sucked out. Even without knowing who Adrien was, human instinct screamed at anyone in his presence that this was a man who decided who lived and who died with a flick of his wrist.
Adrien walked slowly across the room, stopping directly in front of Connor. He didn't yell. He didn't raise his fist. He simply looked at Connor the way a scientist looks at a particularly repulsive insect under a microscope.
“You told her she wasn't wanted,” Adrien said, his voice dangerously low. “You stole two years of her life, humiliated her, threw her out into freezing sub-zero temperatures to die, and then had the absolute cowardice to question her honor.”
“I—I didn't mean for her to crash!” Connor stammered, shaking violently as sweat poured down his temples. “It was an accident! Just let me talk to her! I’ll give her whatever she wants!”
“You’ll give her nothing,” Adrien replied coldly. “Because you have nothing left to give.”
Adrien snapped his fingers. Franco stepped forward, tossing a thick manila folder onto Connor’s desk.
“Every corporate account you manipulated, every fraudulent tax return you filed over the past five years, every shell company you set up to embezzle from your firm—it’s all documented right here,” Adrien explained smoothly. “Copies have already been sent to the FBI, the IRS, and your managing partners. By tomorrow morning, you won't just be broke, Connor. You’ll be in a federal penitentiary sharing a cell with men who have very strong opinions about cowards who abuse pregnant women.”
Connor collapsed back into his chair, his legs entirely giving out beneath him. He grabbed the edges of the desk, sobbing openly. “Please! Please, Mr. Mancini! Have mercy! I’ll lose everything! Please let me apologize to her!”
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Adrien turned his back on him in utter disgust.
“Mercy was what Madison showed you when she didn't expose your miserable little life sooner,” Adrien said over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. “You’re done, Connor. Pack up your desk. Your new life as a federal inmate starts in exactly one hour.”
