While Davis and his wife were having a good rest after a long journey and work time, Desmond’s case was a stark contrast to their situation.
The morning sun filtered through the floor to ceiling glass windows and walls of the Allen Corporation’s executive conference room, casting cold shadows across the polished marble floor.
The air was sterile, perfumed faintly with fresh lavender fragrance and fresh coffee, but the tension beneath it was palpable.
Desmond Allen walked in, his tailored suit immaculate, his steps deliberate. His eyes swept over the seated board members made up of fifteen men and women whose loyalty he’d secured through years of careful manipulation, favors, and intimidation.
He took his seat at the head the table without greeting anyone. His assistant silently slid a stack of documents in front of him with the morning’s agenda tucked behind layers of reports.
Desmond’s fingers tapped against the glass desk, each beat calculated, his composure that of an emperor as his icy eyes scanned the faces of the members in silent appraisal.
"Let’s begin," he said curtly.
The COO, a slender man with sharp glasses and sharper instincts, cleared his throat. "Before we proceed to the quarterly review, there’s an item that’s come to our attention regarding project expenditures under Division 4C."
Desmond’s stern eyes settled on the man, his chest tightened, his hand paused briefly before resuming its action.
That division was one of his shadow budgets—used for siphoning funds under R&D cover and had long being concealed but bringing it up at this point is a clear indication that something had gone wrong.
Desmond’s lips curved into a thin smile. "4C is a confidential defense tech initiative in early-phase prototyping. We’ve used black-budget methods to protect IP. If you’re unfamiliar with the protocol, perhaps we can schedule a separate briefing."
He let the statement hang, daring them to question further. But this time he underestimated the reasons and positions of the board members.
Ms. Dexter, a fierce blonde lady from the Audit Committee leaned forward, a cold smirk playing on her lips.
"We found a discrepancy of over 4.2 million Dollars routed through a shell contractor that has no traceable operations. The invoice was approved with your clearance code."
Desmond didn’t expect them to be persistent and to dare press further on the case. He took a deep breath. "Like I said we trying our best to protect it and then adopted the black budget method."
Ms. Dexter didn’t blink. "I’m aware of black-budget operations. But those are usually signed off by a secondary authority. This one wasn’t. And our crosscheck shows no official briefing with Legal, nor oversight from Finance."
Desmond slowly leaned back. "Are you questioning my authority to protect Allen Corp’s intellectual property?"
She met his gaze. "No. I’m questioning whether this is about intellectual property at all."
The board room fell silent as both of their eyes were locked in the air, the tension settling in the room palpable as the air around them condensed.
The CFO spoke next. "I think, for clarity and board confidence, we should request a neutral audit. Not an accusation—just transparency."
"I am the transparency," Desmond growled, his mask slipping momentarily.
"Everything this company has accomplished in the past years plus is because I made the tough decisions your spreadsheets couldn’t."
"No one’s discrediting that," the COO said quickly, trying to diffuse the mood yet it continuously descended into coldness.
Desmond felt something going wrong as he glanced around the board room, it was the usual agendas, familiar voices, but to Desmond, it all felt like static noise.
The sudden precision in the reports being presented, the questions, the usual vagueness he instils seem to have no effect anymore and had vanished.
He felt it replaced by piercing clarity as department heads now came armed with crisp figures, complete with visual breakdowns didn’t go unnoticed.
He fell into contemplation "Was it a coincidence? Or were they preparing for something? Or is someone manipulating them?"
A younger board member cleared his throat, half-rising from his seat in greeting which also eased the tension a bit.
"The report from the R&D department was just circulated. There are... other anomalies aside the mentioned case
Desmond paused mid-step, his brow twitching ever so slightly. "Anomalies?"
"Some budgetary overlaps with discontinued projects. We assumed it was an accounting error but in further investigation, it wasn’t. So, I ask Chairman can you throw more light?"
"We’ll address that during the financial review."Desmond replied curtly.
Desmond’s mind swirled with thoughts and the possible cause of the anomaly in the board meeting, the CFO cleared his throat and pushed a folder toward Desmond.
"There’s an irregularity in the marketing budget as well. One of the campaigns listed hasn’t been verifiably executed. Yet over 3.5 million was processed under that line item."
A murmur passed through the room.
Desmond maintained his composure outwardly while he screamed and cursed at him. "We outsourced that campaign. Likely a lag in final deliverables. I’ll have the team follow up." He said.
"I already did," the CFO replied, gaze steady. "The firm in question denied any recent contracts with us."
A flicker of silence descended the conference room, Cold and Sharp.
Desmond chuckled lightly. "Then we’ll revisit the contract files. No need for alarm."
But the murmuring intensified. Desmond’s mind raced with trepidation. Who was pulling these strings? Someone was pushing these narratives forward. He mused.
His phone dinged with a notification from his subordinates. Immediately he slide his finger over the screen, and a glaring text meet his gaze
"Davis and his wife just returned, captured this image at the airport.Also, the Noveria’s branch resumed full operations after relaunching."
Desmond’s hand twitched, his heart lurched, his breathe coming in gasps while he struggled to maintain composure. "Meeting adjourned," He said coldly.
"Mr. Desmond, we haven’t reviewed the—"
"I said adjourned!" he barked, standing abruptly.
He stormed out of the boardroom, the paper still in hand.
The board meeting had been a terrible one. He never expected that the boardroom, which he had always commanded with a smirk since the confirmation that Davis was completely missing and presumed dead, will take a different turn today, with managers asking sharp, daunting questions about investments made and the expected return on those investments.
As far as Desmond could remember, this seemed to be one of the few board meetings where he had been defeated. He had felt fear, embarrassment, shame, and regret.