Chapter 6 THE WARNING
POV: Selena
I stuffed the envelope into my bag and walked out of the office with my heart pounding so hard it made my steps uneven.
I wanted the note to disappear. I wanted the money to stop burning against my side like proof of a crime I did not understand. More than anything, I wanted to pretend this was a mistake, that someone had confused me with another intern, another name, another life.
But the words stayed with me all the way home.
Leave the De Luca family alone.
I barely knew the family. I had spoken to Adrian twice. I had done my job. I had fixed numbers. That was it. The warning made no sense, and that frightened me more than if it had.
By morning, the fear had settled into something harder. Pride.
I did not report it.
I told myself there was no proof. I told myself going to Mrs. Patterson would make me look paranoid, or worse, weak. I needed this job. Not wanted. Needed. Reporting a threat I could not explain felt like handing someone a reason to remove me quietly.
So I went in early and acted normal.
It did not work.
Every sound made me turn my head. Every unexpected movement tightened my chest. When someone laughed nearby, I flinched. I kept my bag close, my eyes on my screen, my thoughts locked away.
I wanted answers, but I did not know how to ask the right questions.
“Selena.”
I looked up sharply.
Adrian stood beside my desk, a folder tucked under his arm. He looked composed, but there was an edge to him today, like he had slept badly or argued too long with someone who refused to listen.
“I need you to analyze these financial projections,” he said. “Now.”
Several heads turned in our direction. My pulse jumped. This was not invisible.
“Of course,” I replied, standing too quickly.
He handed me the folder. Our fingers brushed as I took it.
The contact was brief, accidental, and somehow startling. A jolt ran through me before I could stop it, like my body had reacted before my mind could catch up. I pulled my hand back too fast and immediately regretted it.
Adrian noticed.
His gaze lingered on me, questioning, then moved away as if he had decided not to comment. “Use my office,” he said. “It will be quieter.”
Quieter was not the word I would have chosen. His office felt charged, like the walls had absorbed too many tense conversations. I sat at the small table near the window and opened the folder, forcing myself to focus.
Numbers steadied me again. Patterns. Logic. Things that made sense.
I worked quickly, annotating margins, checking assumptions, recalculating totals. Adrian stood nearby, phone in hand, pacing as he listened to a call I could not hear. His voice was low when he spoke, clipped and controlled.
“No,” he said at one point. “That explanation will not hold.”
He ended the call and turned to me. “What do you see?”
I hesitated. Then I told him. “These projections rely on growth assumptions that are not supported by last quarter’s data. If the trend continues, the gap will widen.”
He frowned. “How long?”
“Months,” I said. “Unless someone intervenes.”
He nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
That was it. No praise. No dismissal. Just acknowledgment. Somehow, that meant more.
When he left to take another call, I stayed behind to finish checking the files. I should have stopped there. I should have handed them back and gone home.
Instead, curiosity pulled me deeper.
I opened the archived versions, comparing current projections with older ones. At first, the differences were small. Adjustments that could be explained by updated information. Then I saw it.
Recent changes. Not documented. Not approved.
My breath slowed as I traced the edits. Numbers shifted just enough to avoid notice. Dates altered. Supporting documents replaced with near-identical versions that changed outcomes subtly but significantly.
This was not carelessness.
This was deliberate.
I leaned back, my mind racing. The warning. The cash. Adrian’s frustration. The insistence that I look at these projections personally.
I was not supposed to see this.
The office was quiet again, most people gone for the day. I checked the time. Late. Too late. But leaving now felt impossible. Once you saw something like this, you could not unsee it.
Adrian returned, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. “You are still here,” he said.
“I found something,” I replied, my voice unsteady despite my effort to control it.
He closed the door behind him. “Show me.”
I explained carefully, pointing out the changes, the dates, the inconsistencies. I watched his expression shift as understanding set in. His jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek jumping once.
“These changes were not authorized,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “And they affect multiple initiatives, not just this one.”
Silence filled the room.
He looked at me, really looked, the way someone does when they realize the ground under them is less solid than they believed. “You should not be involved in this,” he said.
“I already am,” I replied quietly.
He did not argue.
“Go home,” he said finally. “Do not talk about this with anyone.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I will handle it,” he said, but his tone lacked certainty.
I gathered my things, my mind buzzing. As I reached the door, he spoke again.
“Selena.”
I turned.
“If anyone contacts you,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “about your work here, you tell me.”
My stomach twisted. “Anyone?”
“Yes.”
I nodded and left, the weight of the day pressing down on me with every step.
That night, I did not sleep.
By morning, the fear had shifted again. It was no longer vague. It had edges now. Shape. Direction.
Someone was altering the foundation’s numbers. Someone had noticed I could see patterns others missed. And someone had tried to scare me away.
As I walked back into the building, I knew one thing with painful clarity.
The warning was not about what I had done.
It was about what I was about to discover.