Chapter 5: Project Sunrise
The deputy general counsel was a quiet, precise man named Warren Chu who had joined the company three years ago from a white-shoe litigation firm.
He arrived at the conference room carrying a leather portfolio and a coffee he hadn't touched.
The head of Internal Audit, Renata Osei, came in behind him with a tablet already open.
I closed the door.
"What I'm about to share does not leave this room until I say otherwise," I said.
"Not to the general counsel.
Not to the Chairman's office.
Understood?"
Warren and Renata exchanged a glance.
Both nodded.
I laid the printed email on the table.
Warren read it once.
Read it again.
Set it down carefully, the way you set something down when you don't want to touch it more than necessary.
"The discretionary account referenced here," I said.
"I need to know its full transaction history for the past twenty-four months."
Renata was already typing.
"Give me until end of day."
"I also need access to a personal drive registered to Camila Reyes on the company server."
Warren looked up.
"On what grounds?"
"The account was provisioned using company IT resources and sits within the corporate network.
If it contains evidence of unauthorized transfers from a company account, that makes it subject to internal audit."
"That argument holds," he said slowly.
"But if we access it without her knowledge and the contents are later used in proceedings, opposing counsel will challenge the chain of custody."
"Then document every step.
I want a full access log, timestamped, with both of you present."
Renata pulled up the network directory.
It took her less than three minutes to locate the folder.
She turned the tablet toward me.
*Project Sunrise.
Last modified: yesterday.*
"Open it," I said.
The folder contained forty-one files.
Renata scrolled through the index slowly.
Correspondence.
Wire transfer confirmations.
A lease agreement.
A document from a clinic on East 74th Street.
And near the bottom of the list, a file simply labeled *ES — Draft.*
"Open that one last," I said.
We went through the transfers first.
Over twenty-two months, a Montalvo Global discretionary account — one that fell under the Chairman's signature authority — had been used to make forty-seven payments.
The lease on a two-bedroom apartment on East 79th Street.
Furniture.
A car registered to Camila Reyes.
Travel.
And six payments to Harwick & Sole, Attorneys at Law, totaling just over two hundred thousand dollars.
"He billed the divorce lawyer to the company," Renata said.
She said it flatly, the way an auditor states a number.
"Open the last file," I said.
Warren leaned forward.
The document was a draft separation agreement.
My name was on it.
Alexander's name was on it.
It was dated five weeks ago.
Several clauses had been flagged in red by what appeared to be Harwick & Sole's annotations.
One flagged clause read: *Subject retains no claim to founder shares or Cayman-registered holdings on grounds of pre-marital origin.
Recommend accelerating transfer before subject assumes operational role.*
Subject.
I had been reduced to a word.
The room was quiet for a moment.
"Elena," Warren said carefully.
"This is no longer just an internal matter."
"I know."
"If he used company funds to retain divorce counsel and to facilitate asset transfers intended to disadvantage a fellow officer of the company, that's a breach of fiduciary duty at minimum.
Potentially fraud."
"I know that too."
Renata set her tablet down.
"What do you want to do?"
I looked at the draft agreement on the screen.
At the word *subject* sitting in the middle of a clause that had been written while I was in Singapore, while I was in Chicago, while I was on a red-eye flight building the company that paid for every line of it.
"Preserve everything," I said.
"Full forensic copy, chain of custody documented.
Then I want a complete audit of every discretionary account under the Chairman's signature authority going back three years." I stood up.
"And I want it finished before six o'clock tonight."
Warren closed his portfolio.
"He's coming here at six."
May you like
"Yes," I said.
"He is."
