Chapter 3 - THE TABLE BUILT AROUND MY NAME
Dinner began at midnight.
Because apparently dangerous people do not respect normal meal schedules.
I sat at Table 3 between Vivienne Cross and Hollis Crane.
Thomas sat across from me.
Larkin was at the head table.
Far enough away to make me angry.
Close enough to watch.
Hollis avoided my eyes.
Vivienne did not.
“So,” she said. “How long have you been working independently?”
“I haven’t.”
She smiled.
“You really are sticking with that.”
“What did my company buy from you?”
“The Red Hook warehouse.”
Brooklyn.
I knew the property.
It appeared in Larkin’s books as a lease expense.
Not acquisition.
“How was payment made?”
Vivienne studied me.
“Wire.”
“From where?”
“Haven’t you memorized your own bank?”
Thomas interrupted.
“Vivienne, Penelope handles internal numbers. Not real estate.”
I looked at him.
“I thought I owned the building.”
His smile tightened.
“Apparently you’ve been busy.”
Then Hollis finally spoke.
“You signed the materials contract too.”
“What materials?”
“Industrial sealant. solvents. storage drums.”
My stomach turned.
Those were the invoices I had processed.
But I only entered approved bills.
I did not sign contracts.
“Show me.”
He frowned.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Thomas laughed.
“Penelope, stop pretending you’re conducting an audit over dinner.”
I lifted my wine.
“Why? Nervous?”
His eyes changed.
There.
Tiny.
But real.
Hollis opened his phone and pulled up a PDF.
Signature:
Penelope Woods.
Good forgery.
Digital certificate attached.
The certificate number looked familiar.
I had seen it on expense approvals.
My office login.
Someone had used my corporate authentication token.
“Send this to me.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You’re not part of this conversation.”
His smile disappeared.
“I’m your superior.”
“At work.”
Vivienne nearly laughed.
Hollis emailed the contract.
The attachment metadata loaded.
Created by:
TS_OfficeAdmin.
Thomas Steves.
My pulse sharpened.
Not proof he signed.
But enough to keep.
Then a waiter placed dessert.
I did not touch it.
Across the room, Larkin’s eyes stayed on me.
He knew something had changed.
I opened another contract Hollis sent.
My signature again.
Date:
Six months ago.
I checked my calendar.
That day I had been home with pneumonia.
I had not logged into the office.
Or so I thought.
Then I remembered.
Thomas called me.
Said he needed one spreadsheet.
Asked me to read him the temporary authentication code sent to my phone.
I did.
Because I trusted the request.
My stomach dropped.
He used my second factor.
I looked across the table.
“You needed my code six months ago.”
Thomas’s hand stopped near his glass.
“What?”
“Tuesday. February seventeenth.”
He smiled slowly.
“You remember every phone call?”
“I remember being sick enough to sleep nineteen hours.”
Vivienne looked between us.
Hollis leaned back.
Thomas said:
“You’re reaching.”
“Maybe.”
Then I opened the P. Woods credit line documents.
Same date.
The LLC’s bank account had been activated that morning.
My authentication code.
My digital identity.
The foundation.
Thomas had been building me into a criminal on paper.
Then the lights dimmed for the gala auction.
On the giant screen appeared a luxury property.
Red Hook Warehouse.
My warehouse.
The auctioneer announced:
“Donated for tonight’s charitable redevelopment initiative by P. Woods Consulting.”
The ballroom applauded.
Every face turned toward me.
My blood went cold.
Thomas raised his glass.
“Smile, Penelope.”
A photographer approached.
He wanted me standing beside the property I supposedly owned.
Proof for later.
Visual evidence.
The invisible secretary publicly presenting her shell company.
I finally understood the gala.
May you like
Thomas did not want me humiliated.
He wanted me documented.
