Chapter 7 FIRST SUSPICIOUS
POV: Selena
I closed the spreadsheet and immediately reopened it, my fingers stiff as if the numbers might rearrange themselves if I blinked too long.
They did not.
The altered figures stared back at me, calm and ordinary on the surface, dangerous underneath. I had checked them three times the night before. I checked them again now, my heart tight, my breath shallow. If I was wrong, I would look reckless. If I was right, I would be standing in the path of something far larger than an internship.
I rubbed my palms against my jeans and leaned back in my chair.
Accusations were not my role. Interns did not challenge systems. They learned quietly or they were removed quietly. The warning envelope sat heavy in my bag, unspoken but present, like a second heartbeat.
My phone buzzed.
Adrian De Luca.
I hesitated before answering.
“Can you come to my office?” he asked. No greeting. No softness. “Now.”
My stomach dropped. “Yes.”
I stood, ignoring the curious looks around me, and walked fast. Every step felt like a decision I could not undo.
Adrian was already standing when I entered, jacket on, expression closed. “I need you to present your findings,” he said.
“To who?” I asked, though I already sensed the answer.
“My family.”
The word landed hard.
“I am just an intern,” I said carefully. “If I am wrong—”
“You are not,” he replied. “But I need them to hear it from you.”
My throat tightened. “That could get me fired.”
“It could,” he said. “Or it could stop something worse.”
He studied my face, as if weighing my limits. “You do not have to do this.”
I thought of the envelope. Of the numbers. Of how easily people like me were pushed aside.
“I will do it,” I said.
The De Luca estate did not look like a home. It looked like a statement.
I followed Adrian through tall gates and wide halls that echoed softly underfoot. Everything felt permanent. Heavy. Designed to remind visitors who held power here.
I kept my head level, my back straight. Do not look impressed. Do not look afraid.
The family meeting took place in a long room lined with portraits. Faces watched me from the walls, stern and confident. I stood near the table, tablet in hand, while others took their seats.
Senator De Luca entered last.
He did not rush. He did not smile. His gaze swept the room once and stopped on me, sharp and assessing, like I was already a problem that needed a name.
Adrian cleared his throat. “Selena Alvarez has been assisting with recent financial reviews.”
The senator’s eyes stayed on me. “An intern.”
“Yes,” Adrian said. “A capable one.”
I began when prompted, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. I explained the discrepancies clearly, pointing to dates, changes, patterns. I did not accuse. I described.
Silence followed.
One of the senior relatives frowned. “Are you suggesting misconduct?”
“I am suggesting the records were altered,” I replied. “I do not know by whom or why.”
The senator folded his hands. “And you noticed this how?”
“Because the data no longer matched the original projections,” I said. “The changes were small, but consistent.”
His gaze sharpened. “You are very confident for someone in your position.”
I swallowed. “I am careful.”
Dinner followed, formal and tense. I barely touched my plate. Conversations flowed around me, polished and controlled, while I sat very still, aware of every glance sent my way.
Then the senator spoke again.
“Miss Alvarez,” he said calmly. “Tell me. What do you really want from this family?”
The room went quiet.
I felt every eye turn toward me. My heart pounded, but my voice did not shake when I answered.
“I want to do my job honestly,” I said.
The senator studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate.
And I knew, with sudden clarity, that whatever I had stepped into now could not be undone.