Chapter 12 UNDER SUSPICIOUS
POV (Selena)
“Sit down.”
The chair scraped loudly as it was pulled out in front of me, and the sound made my shoulders tense before I could stop myself. I sat because there was no other choice. The room felt smaller than it should have, crowded with people who did not belong to me and never would.
Two lawyers sat across the table. Files were already open. Pens rested between their fingers like tools waiting to be used.
Adrian stood near the wall.
He did not speak. He did not move. But I could feel him watching me.
“We are going to ask you some questions,” one of the lawyers said. His voice was calm, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. “This will be recorded.”
“I understand,” I said.
The words came out steady, even though my heart was racing. I folded my hands together in my lap and focused on breathing through my nose. Panic would not help me. Fear would not save me.
“When did you first notice discrepancies in the foundation’s financial reports?” the lawyer asked.
“Three weeks ago,” I said. “During a routine review of grant allocations.”
“And what did you do when you noticed them?”
“I documented them,” I replied. “Then I reported them directly to Mr. De Luca.”
The second lawyer leaned forward slightly. “Did you discuss these discrepancies with anyone else?”
“No.”
“Not with friends. Not with family. Not with members of the press.”
“No,” I repeated. “No one.”
They exchanged a look. I hated that look. It said they were already imagining a different version of me.
“Were you aware of offshore accounts connected to the foundation?” the first lawyer asked.
“No,” I said. “I was not given access to those accounts.”
“Yet the article references internal projections,” he pressed. “Documents that passed through your hands.”
My jaw tightened. “Those projections were altered after I reviewed them.”
The room went quiet.
Adrian shifted slightly. I did not look at him, but I felt the change in his attention.
“You are claiming the leaked documents are not authentic,” the second lawyer said.
“I am saying they were manipulated,” I replied. “The structure is wrong. The formatting is inconsistent. The data does not align with the original source files.”
The first lawyer tapped his pen. “That is a serious claim.”
“So is accusing me of a crime,” I said.
His eyes narrowed, but he did not respond.
“How long have you known Mr. De Luca?” the second lawyer asked.
“I met him through this internship.”
“And yet he has shown unusual interest in your work.”
I glanced toward Adrian before I could stop myself. He was watching me closely now, his expression unreadable.
“He asked me to do my job,” I said. “Nothing more.”
“Do you expect us to believe there is no personal motivation here?” the lawyer asked.
My chest tightened. “I expect you to believe the truth.”
Adrian’s gaze held mine for a moment longer than necessary. I wondered what he saw. Fear. Defiance. Or doubt.
The questions continued. They asked about my background. My education. My finances. Every answer felt like a test I was not allowed to study for. I could feel the weight of suspicion pressing down on me, reshaping the room, changing how every word landed.
Finally, the first lawyer closed his file.
“For the duration of this investigation,” he said, “your access to foundation systems will be suspended.”
I nodded once. “I understand.”
“We will also need your laptop,” he continued. “It will be taken for forensic analysis.”
My breath caught, sharp and involuntary.
“That laptop contains my personal work,” I said. “School files. Research.”
“It will be returned if no evidence is found,” he replied. “Please hand it over.”
I stood slowly, every movement deliberate. My laptop sat on the table near the door. I picked it up, feeling the familiar weight of it in my hands, and placed it gently in front of him.
It felt like surrender.
As a security officer stepped forward, I finally looked at Adrian.
He was studying my face like he was trying to solve a problem with no clear answer. His eyes searched mine, not accusing, not defending, just watching.
Trying to decide.
The officer gestured toward the door. “This way.”
I followed him out of the room, my pulse loud in my ears. The hallway felt colder now, longer. Each step echoed too clearly.
When we reached the corner, Adrian moved quickly, closing the distance between us.
“Selena,” he said quietly.
The guard paused, distracted by a call crackling through his radio.
I leaned in, lowering my voice so only Adrian could hear me.
“The leaked documents are fake,” I whispered. “I can prove it.”
His eyes widened just slightly.
Then the guard turned back, and I was guided forward again, leaving Adrian standing behind me with questions I hoped he would not ignore.
Whatever this was, it was no longer just about suspicion.
It was about survival.