Chapter 22: The Clean Empire

Chapter 22: The Clean Empire
The first morning I sat in Kael Brown’s chair, the leather felt too soft, too steeped in someone else’s power. Pale sunlight slipped through the glass wall, sliding across the walnut desk like liquid gold. It caught on paperclips, flashed on a crystal paperweight, then pooled over a tower of files—a gray barricade of numbers and words. My fingertips brushed the folder edges; paper rustled like a breath from the past. From the corner, the coffee machine hissed, its dark aroma mingling with the bitter scent of old ink and paper, as if memories themselves were rising in the steam.

I had dreamed of this moment for years. In France, Kristine and I pieced together leaked faxes, deleted emails, whispered tips—shards of a portrait damning enough to lock Kael away for life. But not yet. This was only the first move.

I flipped through file after file, fingers drumming in a slow rhythm. Each page a pristine snowfield of figures—no discrepancies, no hidden accounts, no phantom invoices. Everything gleamed like a mirror refusing to reveal the truth. Out in the corridor, heels echoed; the photocopier clattered like the building’s heartbeat. Somewhere in the ducts, air sighed. A shiver ran through me. Had he scrubbed it all clean?

A thin smile tugged at my lips. Three years ago I had brought one of Kael’s two private companies down without a sound—no headlines, no court cases, just a quiet implosion. Now the second—the one whose chair I occupied—had also fallen into my hands. And still his empire looked immaculate. Had he managed to erase every trace? Or was he truly as clean as they said? I remembered Kael once saying, “I’m always transparent.” Yet he had never been transparent with me.

I rolled my fountain pen between my fingers, listening to the soft click of metal on metal, like a small clock marking time. Then I picked up the desk phone, pressing the internal line. The dial tone pulsed coldly against my ear.

“HR? This is Dawson,” I said evenly, as if the words were routine. “Please send Linda up to see me.”

Linda—according to her file, she had been here since the company’s inception. If anyone knew what I needed, it would be her.

Five minutes later, the door eased open. The hinge whispered like a blade slicing silk. A woman in her early thirties stepped in, pencil-gray skirt, hair neatly pinned, a faint scent of lavender clinging to her as if she had hurried to freshen herself before entering. She clutched her handbag to her stomach, fingers locked on the strap as though holding a lifeline. She stopped before my desk, bowing slightly.

“Ms. Dawson, how can I help you?” Her voice was light, cautious, with a hint of tremor—like a violin string stretched too tight.

I gestured for her to sit. She perched on the edge of the chair, knees together, as if afraid to disturb the room’s gravity. Sunlight traced her cheek, revealing a fine sheen of sweat at her temple. Outside the window, a horn blared far below, but up here the sound was muffled, like something heard through water.

“I just have a few questions,” I leaned forward, hands interlaced, lowering my voice so it softened into something almost confidential. “As I understand, you’ve been working here nearly five years?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Linda nodded. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the door before returning to me, a quick, darting movement like a fish avoiding a net.

“Then perhaps you can tell me… what kind of man is Mr. Kael?”

Linda lifted her head slightly. Her brown eyes sparked with pride, yet her lips pressed tight as though guarding something heavy.

“Mr. Kael is a very good person, ma’am. He always cares for his employees, ensures our rights. Thanks to him, many of us have steady jobs, even during hard times.”

I leaned back, twirling the pen, studying her. Her sincerity was so complete it almost made me believe… but should I? He had soothed me once with that same tone, once made me believe I was safe in his hands.

“In all your time here, has the company ever been involved in any legal issues?” I asked directly, holding her gaze.

Linda immediately shook her head, a lock of hair falling across her shoulder like a dark ribbon. Her hand gripped her bag tighter, knuckles whitening until they looked like tiny pearls.

“Not at all, ma’am. Mr. Kael is extremely transparent. He keeps everything under strict control, never allowing any carelessness or violation.”

Her answer fell like a stone into still water. I sat silent for a few seconds, feeling my heartbeat slow. In the silence, I thought I could hear the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights and the distant echo of someone laughing in a corridor—a sound too brief to identify.

“I see.” I nodded, keeping my voice soft. “You may return to work now. Thank you.”

Linda rose, demure.

“Yes, ma’am.” She bowed, turned, and left. Her hand still clutched the bag. The door closed without a sound, leaving behind the smell of cooling coffee and an unfinished sentence.

From the hallway came an unexpected knock—quick, hesitant, as if someone had meant to enter and then changed their mind. The fax machine in the corner suddenly chirped, its screen flashing Incoming… Unknown Sender. I startled, glancing back, but it went dark at once. A single sheet of paper had shifted slightly in the tray, as though someone had breathed on it.

Silence settled again. Only the tick of the clock marked time, each notch like a countdown. I clenched the pen until my fingers blanched, its nib bending slightly, a sharp edge pressing against my thumb. Then I rose, stepped to the window, and looked down at the street—cars crawling like tiny sparks along the asphalt. Drawing a long breath, I unlocked my phone, swiping to an old photo: me, Kristine, and our first file of evidence. Questions churned through my mind:

Had Kael foreseen my investigation and scripted his staff’s answers? Or was he truly as spotless as they claimed? How many more moves before the truth surfaced—or before I drowned in his narrative?

I smiled faintly, a smile that never reached my eyes. The game was still in play. And I was still the one throwing the dice, though for the first time I felt the dice might be loaded.

Sunlight pooled across the desk, striking the open file. The numbers lined up in silence, daring me to find the shadows within them. I shut the folder; the cover thumped like a drumbeat, echoing against the glass walls. On the desk’s edge lay a thin envelope I hadn’t noticed before, no sender marked, only a red symbol scrawled in one corner like a warning. My phone screen pulsed: 1 new email. Beyond the glass, the towers cast long shadows across the street, the afternoon stretching into something darker.

I whispered to myself:

“All right, Kael. Let’s see just how clean you really are.”