Chapter 64
By the time the meeting ended, the sunlight outside had shifted west.
Lucinda closed her folder and stood to leave.
When she opened her office door, Kenna had already stacked a pile of reports neatly on her desk.
On top was a personnel file summary from HR, with several lines highlighted in fluorescent yellow.
Lucinda sat down, her gaze scanning from top to bottom.
When she reached page seven, her fingers stopped.
The report showed that Ella Garcia, HR manager, had been with the company for four years. Her attendance record looked perfect—almost like a printed template.
Perfect attendance. Overtime. Even over a dozen weekend shifts marked.
In the salary summary column, her annual salary was $1.2 million, not including various subsidies and bonuses.
Lucinda folded down the corner of the page. Just as she picked up the next file, the door was slammed open.
Ella stood in the doorway, chest heaving, clutching a piece of paper.
It was the termination notice issued that morning.
"Ms. Wipere!" Ella marched to the desk and slammed the notice down. "What gives you the right to fire me? I've worked at this company for four years! Even if I didn't contribute much, I put in the effort! You fire me without even a word?"
Her voice was shrill. By the last few words, it cracked.
People peeked through the doorway, startled by her volume, then shrank back—but couldn't resist pressing their ears closer.
Lucinda leaned back in her chair and waited for her to finish.
Her expression didn't change. Only after Ella's gasping breaths echoed through the office for several seconds did Lucinda calmly sit up straight.
"Attendance records."
Ella froze. "What?"
"Your attendance records for the past four years have been manually altered. The raw data from the punch-clock system doesn't match the summary HR submitted." As Lucinda spoke, her fingers were already typing on her keyboard.
Lines of code appeared on the screen, reflecting in her eyes and casting a faint blue glow over her already cool gaze.
Ella's face flickered, but she quickly steadied herself, her lips curling into a scornful smile. "You're bluffing. Attendance records are auto-generated by the system. Who could alter them? You've only been here a few days—"
She didn't finish.
Lucinda turned her laptop around, the screen facing Ella.
The screen displayed rows of restored original data, every clock-in time clearly listed. Beside them were the altered records, with red discrepancy markers densely covering the entire screen.
"System records can be altered, but not cleanly." Lucinda's voice remained unhurried. "Every absence, early departure, and no-show you deleted—I pulled them all back from the server's underlying logs. In four years, the actual number of days you worked—"
She paused, her gaze shifting from the screen to Ella's face. "Thirty-five days total."
The scorn on Ella's face froze before it could fully retreat.
Her lips trembled, a garbled sound escaping her throat, but she couldn't form a complete word.
"Thirty-five days of work. $1.2 million in annual salary, plus $230,000 in subsidies." Lucinda turned the laptop back around and tapped a few more keys. The screen switched to surveillance footage screenshots.
In the image, Ella walked out of the company entrance carrying a bag. The timestamp read 10:07 a.m.
Next image: 2:15 p.m. She stepped out of a taxi holding several shopping bags, her makeup more refined than when she'd left.
"I've extracted and archived all these surveillance records. Along with the operation logs of your attendance system alterations—" Lucinda's fingers stopped, and she looked up. "Embezzlement. Over a million dollars. That's enough to be sentenced to several years."
Ella's legs buckled.
She reached out to steady herself on the edge of the desk. A small piece of gel polish chipped off her nail, revealing the mottled natural color underneath.
She opened her mouth. The fire she'd had when slamming the desk was gone.
"Ms. Wipere..." Her voice trembled, something pooling in her eyes. "I... I just made a mistake. Give me one more chance. I promise from now on—"
"I already gave you a chance." Lucinda cut her off, pulling a thick stack of documents from her drawer and placing them on the desk. "Here are sixty-three complaint letters. All from employees in your department whom you drove out."
Lucinda flipped open the top page. The handwriting was dense, but every letter ended with a red fingerprint.
"You verbally abused subordinates, withheld performance bonuses, and forced out veteran employees who wouldn't help you cook the books. And—" Her finger moved to the last few pages—a string of bank transfer records. "Kickbacks from suppliers. Every single one went through accounts handled by your cousin Kaida. You two sisters worked quite well together in my company."
The color drained from Ella's face bit by bit.
She stood there, mouth open, unable to speak. Finally, tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
"Multiple charges. Conservative estimate: two years minimum." Lucinda closed the folder and pushed it toward Ella, as if letting her see her own fate clearly.
Ella's hand slid off the edge of the desk.
Her knees buckled. Her body sank down, and she collapsed onto the floor.
The office fell silent for a few seconds. Only Ella's suppressed sobs remained.
Then Lucinda looked up, her gaze passing over Ella's head and landing on the office doorway.
The door wasn't fully closed.
Through the gap, several silhouettes were visible—people holding files, pretending to pass by, but with their ears perked up, listening.
Lucinda's gaze swept slowly over those figures, then withdrew.
This was exactly what she'd been waiting for.
From the moment she'd signed that termination notice this morning. From the moment she'd deliberately had Kenna leave the office door slightly ajar.
It was all for this moment—so the entire company could see.
So they'd know this company was no longer a place where people could do whatever they wanted.
Soon, Ella was escorted out. Lucinda remained seated, reviewing documents.
After she finished, she opened her phone and saw several missed calls.
Reginald's call came through. She answered. His voice floated through the receiver. "What are you up to?"
"Meetings. Dealt with a few people."
"Need help?"
"No." She flipped to the next file. "Already handled."
Silence on the other end.
Then the man who struck fear into the business world asked his next question in an incredibly serious tone. "What do you want for lunch?"
Lucinda glanced at the time. 11:03 a.m.
"Whatever. I'm busy." She hung up.
Forty minutes later, she closed the last folder, grabbed her bag, and walked out.
The moment the elevator doors opened, she stopped.
In the lobby's lounge area, on a gray fabric sofa, sat Reginald.
Navy overcoat. Light gray shirt. Long legs crossed. His entire presence exuded a cold, unapproachable aura—like a sculpture warning others to stay away.
But at this very moment, he was holding a bulging paper bag, with a few crumbs of caramelized walnuts still clinging to the corner of his mouth.
Lucinda looked down at the bag of snacks, then back up at his icy expression.
Inside the bag, pine nut cookies, chips, and seaweed crisps were crammed together. A bag of shredded squid was more than half-eaten.
Reginald followed her gaze and looked down. His cold expression didn't waver.
He stood up, subtly shifting the paper bag behind him, and cleared his throat. "Got a little hungry waiting for you."
"How long have you been waiting?"
"Just got here."
A receptionist passing by paused, sneaking a glance at her watch.
She'd personally watched this man sit on that sofa for an hour—even had his assistant go out twice to restock snacks.
Lucinda didn't call him out. Her lips curved slightly. "Let's go."
He bent down to pick up the paper bag, his other hand naturally looping through Lucinda's arm.
One shoulder tilted slightly toward her, his entire center of gravity shifting in her direction. The unapproachable iceberg from moments ago now looked like a hunting dog willingly handing its leash to its owner.
Lucinda glanced at him.
He remained expressionless, eyes forward, stride steady, suit impeccable, elegance intact. Every pore on his body screamed "stay away."
Except for the hand firmly looped through hers.