Chapter 8 Embezzlement
While Mr. Conor was working, I could see him scrunch his expression every now and then, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that kept shifting shapes. Sometimes he even chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly as if something on the screen amused him more than it annoyed him. I stood nearby for a while, tempted to ask what he was finding, but I didn’t want to interrupt him or look like I was hovering. The old man was focused, completely locked into his world of numbers and records. So, after a moment, I quietly backed away and left him to do his work.
Hours slipped by slowly, and I busied myself with other tasks around the house, occasionally glancing in his direction whenever I passed by. His posture didn’t change much, but his expressions did, shifting from interest to irritation, from disbelief to amusement, and then back again. Whatever he was seeing, it was messy. Eventually, after what felt like far too long, Eric came to find me. He approached with a small bow of his head and said, “Boss, Mr. Conor is done. He wants to speak with you now.”
The moment he said that, I stood up instantly and practically moved toward the room without thinking. When I entered the room, I saw Mr. Conor adjusting his sitting position with a faint groan, like his joints had been stiff for hours. He didn’t greet me immediately; instead, he clicked the laptop shut slightly before reopening it, then turned the screen toward me as I took my seat beside the desk.
“There have been a lot of inconsistencies since the last time I audited things,” he said, tapping the screen with his knuckle. “And from what I’m looking at here, exactly thirty-one million dollars is missing.”
My mouth fell open. For a second, I didn’t even breathe. Thirty-one million wasn’t pocket change. Before I could speak, he continued, raising his brows like even he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “The funniest thing,” he went on, “is that all this money was diverted within the span of six months.”
“Wow…” I muttered, bewildered. My voice felt too small, like my mind was still trying to catch up with the number.
He looked at me sharply. “Who’s in charge of finance these days?”
“My uncle,” I answered quietly. “Uncle Glenn.”
Mr. Conor nodded once, slowly. “I see. Well, let me give you a piece of advice.” He leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice though no one else was around. “Don’t trust that snake.”
I widened my eyes, pretending to be shocked, even though his words aligned perfectly with what I had suspected for a long time. Uncle Glenn was anything but loyal, and his ambitions had been leaking through the cracks for years. Still, I played my part. “What do you mean?” I asked softly.
“What I mean,” he said, leaning back again, “is that he’s the type who smiles while sharpening a knife behind his back. Be careful with him.”
I nodded, pretending to take the warning as if it were new information. “Thank you, sir. Really. I appreciate the heads up.” I paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you think you could continue working for us? At least until we get this situation sorted?”
He let out a hearty laugh. “Unfortunately, I’m too old to be involving myself in Mafia business,” he said, waving dismissively. “But I do have someone I can introduce to you. Someone younger who knows what he’s doing. I’ll reach out to you about it in a few days.”
He suddenly pushed his chair back and slowly stood up. In one hand he clutched his classic trench coat, and in the other, his walking stick. For someone his age, he still held an air of authority. “It’s up to you to handle the rest of the matter,” he said. “And I would advise you to become an even better leader. I understand it might seem hard controlling all these people with dangerous quirks, but you can do it.”
I gave him a small bow of respect. “Thank you, Mr. Conor. For everything.”
He smiled faintly at that and nodded toward me. “Take care of yourself, kid.” With that final blessing, he walked toward the hallway, his steps steady and firm despite the walking stick tapping rhythmically on the floor. A few minutes later, he was gone.
Once the door closed behind him, I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Thirty-one million dollars… stolen right under our noses. And the culprit, or at least the orchestrator, was my own family. The thought made my jaw clench, but I forced myself to stay composed.
After steadying myself, I turned to Eric. “Put a call through to all the prominent members of our clan,” I ordered.
His eyes widened slightly. “All of them? Ma’am, I’ve never handled something like that before. I was previously just a guard…”
I stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Eric, you’re now more than just a bodyguard. I’ve studied you. You’re intelligent, quick-thinking, and loyal. I need you to be confident. I need you to act as my butler.”
He swallowed hard, nodding awkwardly. “I… I’ll do my best, boss.”
“Good,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I trust you.”
He nodded again and stepped outside to carry out the task, still visibly nervous. Watching him go, I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
Now that he was out making the calls, I turned back to the desk where Mr. Conor had sat moments ago, staring at the numbers still displayed on the laptop. Thirty-one million. Six months. Uncle Glenn. The pieces were there, scattered but visible. This wasn’t just embezzlement. This was betrayal, an act punishable by death under the Mafia law.
And I knew exactly what I needed to do next.