Chapter 2

Texic Group had been riding high for months. Sales were soaring, branches now spanned all fifty states, and negotiations were underway to plant the retail giant in foreign markets. Just two days earlier, the American Business Awards had notified headquarters in New York that Texic had been nominated for second-highest private employer in the nation—behind only the government itself.

Yet the thought of losing five billion dollars sat like lead in Jason’s stomach. To most tycoons, that sum might be pocket change. Not to him. He had clawed Texic out of bankruptcy with his own hands after Andrew’s death. Every dollar mattered.

He studied the grizzled man standing before him. Mr. Bransen’s face was lined with age and worry, spectacles perched on his nose. The old financial advisor had never flinched under pressure—not when Andrew was alive, not now.

“Well?” Jason said, voice edged with impatience. “You might want to start talking, Mr. Bransen. I was about to close for the day.”

Bransen remained calm. “Yes, sir.”

He tapped one finger against his upper lip, a habit Jason had seen a thousand times.

“I’ve been reviewing the company’s balance sheets for weeks. I noticed anomalies in the asset figures.”

Jason leaned forward. “Anomalies? Speak plainly.”

“The branches are managed like independent companies, correct? Not fully consolidated in day-to-day reporting.”

Jason nodded curtly.

“So I pulled the individual branch reports and compared them to the official consolidated sheet. The numbers don’t align. At first the difference looked minor—rounding errors, perhaps. But when I added them up…” Bransen’s voice dropped. “Millions missing. Then tens of millions. Then billions.”

Jason’s pulse hammered in his ears. “You’re saying someone’s been skimming?”

“I’m saying the discrepancy is too consistent to be coincidence.” Bransen lifted his briefcase onto the desk and opened it with steady hands. He withdrew a stack of documents and slid them across. “These are the branch chiefs’ latest reports.”

Jason snatched them up. He flipped through pages of charts—red lines for declines, blue for gains. New York showed drops in the millions. Florida, Texas, Illinois—similar patterns. He scanned faster.

Then he reached California.

The chart was different. Arrows pointed both ways in erratic zigzags. No clean pattern. No logic.

His stomach dropped.

“California,” he muttered.

Bransen adjusted his spectacles. “Exactly. Every other state follows a predictable loss-and-gain rhythm. California does not.”

Jason’s grip tightened on the papers. “Someone is embezzling. And they’ve been doing it for a while.”

“Yes, sir. I believe so.”

Jason lifted his head slowly. His eyes felt heavy, dark. “More than five billion?”

“I suspect far more.” Bransen pulled one final sheet from the pile and pointed to a highlighted line. “The transfers don’t stay inside Texic. They’re routed through another entity—a large company, from the look of the patterns. Someone outside is helping.”

Jason sat back, the chair creaking under him. Betrayal from within. And from without. After everything he’d sacrificed—nights without sleep, deals sealed at dawn, the street life he’d left behind—his empire was bleeding from wounds he hadn’t seen.

He thought of Andrew’s voice, steady and sure: “Surround yourself with people like Bransen, son. They’re rare.” The old man had been right. Bransen had dug through fifty balance sheets when no one else would have bothered. He had warned Jason when others stayed silent. He had given loyalty without asking for reward.

Jason felt a sharp twist of guilt. He had claimed too much credit for Texic’s rise. Bransen—and Andrew before him—had carried more of the load than he ever admitted.

“Thank you,” Jason said quietly. The words felt inadequate.

Bransen gave a small nod. “It’s my duty, sir.”

Jason exhaled. “What now?”

“We need to act carefully. Confronting the wrong person could tip them off. We need proof—hard proof—before we move.”

Jason rubbed his temples. His mind flashed to Angelina. The two million. Her silence after the transfer. The screaming earlier. Was it coincidence? Or another leak he hadn’t noticed?

He pushed the thought aside—for now.

He picked up the phone and dialed Alex. She appeared moments later, hesitant in the doorway.

“Summon the board for tomorrow,” Jason ordered. “Nine a.m. sharp.”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“No buts. Just do it.”

Alex flinched at his tone, then nodded. “Yes, sir. And… the driver?”

“Tell him to prepare the car. I’m leaving.”

She curtseyed and hurried out.

Mr. Bransen gathered his briefcase. “I should go as well. I’ll prepare a confidential summary for the board.”

Jason stood. “Thank you again. For everything.”

Bransen paused at the door. “You built this company from nothing, Jason. Don’t forget that. We’ll fix this.”

The door closed softly behind him.

Jason glanced at the clock: 2:00 p.m. on the dot.

He arranged his desk in mechanical silence, thoughts of Angelina rushing back unbidden. Her demands. Her cold messages. The way she looked at him lately—like he was a bank account with legs.

He swallowed hard.

If his own company could be robbed blind under his nose, what else had he been blind to?

For the first time in years, he wondered what it would feel like to walk away. Not forever. Just long enough to breathe. To meet people who didn’t know his name or his fortune. To see if anything real still existed outside this glittering cage.

He grabbed his coat.

Tomorrow the board would fight over the company’s future.

Tonight, he needed to decide whether he still wanted a place in it.