Chapter 179: The Missing Link

Chapter 179: Chapter 179: The Missing Link

"Tell me we finally have him," Daisy said, dropping into the chair beside Ben’s desk.

Ben did not answer with words. He hit print.

The machine beside his desk began to spit out crisp sheets of paper. Audrey walked over from the break room, holding a mug of green tea, her reporter’s notebook tucked under her arm.

"The digital scan Adrian Cole filed to replace the original authorization had a system metadata tag," Ben explained, pointing to the lines of code on his screen. "Adrian thought he sanitized the physical paper. He forgot that every time Executive Administration archives a restricted file, the software generates a parent authorization voucher."

Daisy grabbed the first page coming off the tray. Her eyes darted down the ledger. "It identifies the executive who granted Adrian’s financial access."

Audrey leaned over the desk. "Who signed off on the system access?"

Ben turned his monitor so both women could see. The name was printed clearly in the digital audit log.

MILES CALLOWAY.

Daisy let out a whistle. "That is the missing link. We have the Kessler transactions, Mercer’s initial red flags, and the exact window where Mason’s name was inserted into the altered sheets. Miles signed off on Adrian’s authorization right before the money started moving."

"We have the chain," Ben said. "Miles gives Adrian the access. Adrian runs the Kessler side. Mercer catches the discrepancy, and Miles becomes involved in the response before Mason’s name appears in the altered files."

Daisy clapped her hands together. "We call Marcus. We get the front page cleared for tomorrow morning."

"Hold on," Audrey said, stepping in. Her voice was quiet, steady, and disciplined.

Daisy frowned. "Audrey, this is what we spent weeks digging for."

"We have proof of executive authorization, altered company records, and a cover-up," Audrey said, tapping the printed sheet. "We do not have a bank statement showing Miles putting Mercer’s missing money into his personal offshore account."

Ben looked up from his glasses. "She is right."

"Come on," Daisy groaned. "It is obvious."

"Obvious gets us sued for libel," Audrey countered. "And it gets the story killed before the ink dries. We report what we can prove on paper. Miles authorized the structure. Miles was involved in the changes to Mason’s records. Miles was involved in the response to Mercer’s complaint. We lay out the documented facts and let the readers see the truth."

Ben took the pages from Daisy’s hand and arranged them in a neat manila folder. "I will draft the outline. Audrey is right. We present a bulletproof paper trail to Marcus. No speculation. Just the receipts."

Audrey glanced at her watch. "I am meeting Mason for dinner. I will walk him through it."

"Tell the boss’s son he might be off the hook soon," Ben joked, opening a desk drawer and fishing out a red lollipop.

"He is not off the hook until Marcus signs off on the layout," Audrey said with a faint smile, heading toward the elevator.

An hour later, Audrey sat across from Mason in a quiet corner booth at a low-key tavern near his office.

Mason took a drink of his water, watching her pull a folded sheet of paper from her bag. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The reporter look. The one where you are holding something you want to tell me, but you are weighing whether it crosses a boundary."

Audrey smiled and slid the paper across the wooden table. "Ben found the voucher trail in the executive system. We have the documented chain connecting Miles’s authorization to Adrian Cole."

Mason went still. He picked up the page and read the printed log. His eyes lingered on his half-brother’s name.

"This places him in the middle of it," Mason said. His tone was restrained, but Audrey saw the tight line of his jaw relax.

"It shows your name appeared in those files months after the original authorizations were made," Audrey told him. "Your name wasn’t part of the original authorization."

Mason set the paper down. He looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before a quiet, genuine relief took over.

"Can you publish it?" Mason asked.

"Marcus has to review the full draft tomorrow," Audrey said. "We have to run it through legal to ensure we only state the facts we have documented. But the story is real, Mason. It is ready."

Mason reached across the table and took her hand. His fingers curled around hers, warm and solid. "Thank you."

"I told you I was going to find out what happened," Audrey said.

"I know," Mason murmured, squeezing her hand. "You always do what you say you will."

Across town, Vanessa stood on the balcony of her downtown apartment, holding a glass of white wine while the city hummed below her. Her phone was pressed to her ear.

"Julian," Vanessa said, her voice smooth and confident. "I just wanted to make sure everything remains set for the gala."

On the other end of the line, Julian sounded harried. "The pastry team is prepping the sugar work, Miss Crosby. But I have to reiterate, six in the evening is cutting it dangerously thin. If the delivery gets caught in downtown traffic, the kitchen will have forty minutes to assemble two hundred complex plates."

Vanessa smiled into the night air. "Audrey was very clear about what she wanted, Julian. She insists on maximum freshness for the presentation. Do not worry. She assured me her team can handle the pressure."

"If you say so," Julian replied reluctantly. "We will dispatch the van at five-thirty."

"Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation."

Vanessa tapped the end button. A pleasant feeling of satisfaction settled over her. Julian was on the hook. When the kitchen descended into chaos, the paper trail would point right to Audrey’s supposed request.

Victoria would see that Audrey was merely a small-time sports reporter who had no business directing high-stakes corporate galas.

Later that evening, Audrey returned to her own apartment. She dropped her keys on the counter and kicked off her boots. Her laptop was open on the kitchen island, displaying the latest schedule for the foundation dinner.

She opened the file to review her speaking notes.

Something caught her eye.

The revised schedule sent by the venue had pushed her presentation back to 8:45 PM. But when Audrey checked the kitchen coordination sheet sent by the floor manager, she noticed a change in the staffing numbers.

The banquet team had cut three servers from the dessert service line.

Audrey frowned. She pulled out the notes she had taken during the tasting with the chef. The chef had specifically warned that the spun sugar could only remain outside the kitchen for about twenty minutes, while the blackberry cream had to be piped immediately before service.

Fewer servers meant slower service. A slower service meant ruined desserts.

Audrey tapped her pen against the granite counter.

She picked up her phone and dialed the venue coordinator’s direct number.

"David, it is Audrey," she said when the man picked up. "I was looking over the updated staffing chart for the dining room. Why did the server count for the dessert course drop from twelve to nine?"

"Oh, Miss Ellis," David replied, rustling some papers. "Miss Crosby called earlier to adjust the floor budget. She said the speeches were running longer, so we could consolidate the waitstaff to cut down on unnecessary overhead."

Audrey’s eyes narrowed. "Vanessa requested that?"

"Yes, along with the schedule shift to 8:45 PM."

Audrey felt a strange prickle at the back of her neck. Vanessa had offered to take over the background logistics to help her. But every adjustment Vanessa made seemed to squeeze the room for error.

"David, can you email me the complete modification log for the catering and floor plans?" Audrey asked.

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now," Audrey said firmly. "I want to review every change made to the original proposal."

"Sure thing. I will send over the master log."

Audrey hung up. Two minutes later, an alert dinged on her laptop screen.

She clicked on the attached PDF.

The document showed the timeline of updates. She scrolled past the lighting adjustments and table placements until she reached the supplier coordination section.

She pulled up the email Vanessa had sent her earlier in the week.

Vanessa: Yes. That is what the supplier confirmed. Delivery: 2:00 PM.

Audrey looked back at the venue master log.

Under the entry for the executive pastry supplier, there was no mention of a two o’clock arrival.

Instead, the timestamped entry read:

Delivery arrangements revised at host’s request.

Audrey stared at the line. Her fingers hovered over her phone.

"Which host?" Audrey whispered.