Chapter 5 - The Corporate Mask Slips
The offices of Sterling & Sterling occupied the thirty-fourth floor of the glass tower on Bishopsgate. It was a cathedral of brushed steel, tinted panoramic windows, and muted beige carpets designed to make billionaires feel comfortable parting with their money.
At nine o'clock the following morning, I walked through the revolving doors wearing an ivory tailored suit and dark sunglasses. Beside me walked Marcus Hayes, a senior forensic partner from an independent auditing firm, carrying two black leather briefcases.
The receptionist, a young woman named Sophie who had sent me Christmas cards for six years, looked up with a bright smile that instantly froze.
"Mrs. Sterling! Good morning. Mr. Sterling is in the boardroom with the regional directors, but I can—"
"I’m not here to see Daniel, Sophie," I said, offering her a courteous smile. "I’m here to access the archive server room and collect my personal files from the executive suite."
Whispers rippled through the open-plan office like wind through tall grass. Heads popped up over cubicle partitions. In the glass-walled conference room down the hall, I could see Daniel standing at the head of the mahogany table, gesturing toward a PowerPoint slide.
Brooke was sitting two chairs away from him, wearing a bespoke navy dress, taking notes on an iPad. She looked poised, polished, and completely oblivious to the tremor beneath her feet.
I didn't make a scene. I walked directly into Daniel’s office, unlocked the filing cabinets behind his desk with my master key, and began handing folders to Marcus.
The door flew open with such force the handle gouged the plaster wall.
Daniel stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his tie slightly undone. Behind him, several associates were pretending not to look, their eyes darting between us.
"Claire, what is this?" he hissed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "I'm in the middle of the quarterly investor review. You can't just storm in here with an outsider."
"Marcus Hayes isn't an outsider," I replied, without looking up from the drawer. "He is an court-appointed independent special auditor. As of eight-thirty this morning, my legal counsel filed an ex parte motion to preserve all electronic and physical records of Sterling & Sterling pending an equitable distribution and corporate malfeasance inquiry."
Daniel turned gray. "You did what?"
"You're being audited, Daniel. Not by the IRS. By me."
Brooke opened the door then, stepping in with an expression of manufactured innocence that bordered on theatrical. "Daniel, the clients are asking if we need to take a recess—"
She stopped when she saw me. The smug, domestic comfort she had worn in my kitchen forty-eight hours ago vanished, replaced by an instinctive, predatory wariness.
"Good morning, Brooke," I said sweetly. "I hope you enjoyed the cabernet. I trust you won't be using corporate funds to restock my cellar."
"Claire," Brooke began, her voice tight, trying to sound professional. "I understand this is a sensitive personal matter, but this is a professional workplace—"
"You're quite right," I interrupted, closing the folder in my hand with a sharp snap. "Which is why Marcus is going to need your company laptop, your building access badge, and the keys to the Mercedes registered under your LLC by five o'clock today."
Brooke looked at Daniel, her eyes wide with shock. "Daniel? Tell her she can't do that."
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Daniel stood frozen between us, his mouth slightly open, the grand illusion of his dual life collapsing under the weight of fluorescent office lights.
***
