Chapter 2

The rules of the Vale household are engraved in their bones, and even their daily routine is like clockwork.

At six o'clock in the morning the next day, I opened my eyes on time.

After doing financial audits for so many years, my body has long been accustomed to this rhythm and does not need an alarm clock.

After washing up and going downstairs, Martin had already set breakfast in the dining room.

Typical continental fare: toast, fried eggs, bacon, and a pot of black coffee.

"Ms. Shaw, morning." Martin nodded slightly.

"Good morning, Martin." I pulled out a chair and sat down. "Where is Mr. Vale?"

"Mr. Vale goes for a morning run. He should be on the forest path behind the manor right now. He usually has breakfast at 7:30 and leaves for the company at 8:00." Martin answered crisply.

I gave a short reply and lowered my head, eating faster.

Share breakfast with him on day one?

I couldn't swallow that meal.

At ten minutes past seven, I put down my knife and fork, picked up the access card Martin gave me, and walked to the study at the end of the first floor of the main building.

Swipe your card and push the door open.

A smell of old paper mixed with a hint of cigar came to my face.

Even though I had done some mental preparation in advance, the moment I saw the whole view of the study, I couldn't help but take a breath.

This was not a study.

It was clearly an abandoned archive warehouse.

In a space of hundreds of square meters, oak bookshelves are filled with various folders, and mountains of ledgers, vouchers and reports are piled on the floor, sofas, and even on the large oak desk.

Some documents were scattered on the floor, with half a dusty shoe print still printed on them.

Ian Vale, a man famous in business for being cold and precise, had let his financial command center fall into this state.

I even doubt how he managed Vale Holdings to this day.

But I was shocked, and the auditor's professional obsessive-compulsive disorder in my bones began to surge wildly.

I didn't back down.

Roll up your shirt sleeves, find a few large cardboard boxes, and get started.

The first step is coarse screening.

I picked up all the documents on the floor and made preliminary classifications by year and project.

The dust was flying in the early morning sunshine, making me sneeze several times, but I didn't stop.

The brain is like a high-speed processor that quickly archives messy information.

The whole morning, I didn't even take a sip of water.

Martin brought his lunch to the door of the study at noon. When he saw the scene inside, he opened his mouth in surprise.

"Ms. Shaw, you..."

"Martin, please find me a few shredders, enough archive boxes, and label paper." I did not even look up. I was still flipping through a purchasing ledger from three years ago.

In the afternoon, I started segmenting.

Vouchers, invoices, contracts, bank statements, each category must be in perfect harmony.

It was not until evening that the entire study finally returned to its proper tidiness.

All ledgers and documents are put into unified filing boxes, clearly labeled, and neatly stacked on the bookshelf in chronological order and project category.

I wiped the desk spotless, with only a computer on it and a copy of the "Financial Current Situation Assessment and Rectification Plan" that I just drove out.

In this plan, I bluntly pointed out the chaos of his current financial management, as well as possible tax risks and funding loopholes, and listed a detailed digital transformation plan.

Looking at the brand new study, I rubbed my sore lower back and let out a long sigh of relief.

This is my value.

At seven o'clock in the evening, the sound of a car engine came from outside.

Ian is back.

I didn't go out to greet him, but stayed in my annex room.

It is written in the contract that they will not interfere with each other.

About ten minutes later, I heard a loud bang from the main building.

It sounded like a heavy folder being slammed against the wall.

My heart sank.

It seemed that my plan or my unauthorized arrangement of his study had offended him.

This kind of big boss usually has a strong sense of territoriality and doesn't like others touching his things.

But I don't care.

I'm here to settle the accounts, not be a babysitter.

If he did not accept my professional advice, the bad accounts of the past five years would not be able to be sorted out.

At dinner time, Martin knocked on the door and asked me to go to the main restaurant.

When I walked in, Ian was already sitting in the main seat.

He changed into dark gray home clothes, but his face was so gloomy that it seemed like it could drip water.

The air pressure in the restaurant is so low that it makes you breathless.

I pulled up the chair farthest from him and sat down, lowering my head to eat without saying a word.

"Who told you to touch my study?" He suddenly spoke, his voice as cold as ice.

"Me." I put down my knife and fork, raised my head and looked directly at him, "Mr. Vale, I am your chief financial auditor. If I cannot classify even the most basic original documents, I cannot carry out my work."

"I'll keep those things for use!" His eyes were sharp.

"Useful does not mean it should be piled up like trash." I did not give an inch. "I have already labeled and indexed everything. If you need any document from any year, I can find it for you in ten seconds. Also, have you read my proposal?"

He narrowed his eyes, seeming to look at me again.

Probably few people would dare to speak to him in this tone.

The air was stagnant for half a minute.

Suddenly, he picked up the communal dinner tong, picked up a piece of the tenderest belly meat of grilled salmon, and threw it directly into the bone plate in front of me.

"Eat more." His tone was stiff. "You are so thin you make me look bad when I take you out."

I was stunned.

Looking at the piece of fish on the plate, I frowned.

A slap followed by a sweet date?

As management tactics went, this was painfully clumsy.

I didn't touch the piece of fish, but picked up my knife and fork again and picked up a piece of asparagus.

"Thank you Mr. Vale for your concern, but I'm allergic to seafood." I lied expressionlessly.

His movements paused, his eyes became deeper, but he said nothing more.

After the meal, I went straight back to the annex.

When Martin was clearing the table, he followed me and stopped me in the corridor.

"Ms. Shaw." Martin lowered his voice. "Mr. Vale has a bad temper, but he is not a bad man."

I sneered. "Martin, good or bad does not matter in a ledger. There are only debits and credits."

Martin sighed, his eyes a little complicated.

"For the past three years, even the cleaning servants have not been allowed to enter Mr.'s study. His accounts are even more untouchable."

He looked at me, his tone meaningful.

"You are the first person who not only went in, but also turned it inside out, and finally came out safe and sound."

My heart moved slightly.

The first one?

What is this?

Special treatment for me, the "debtor"?

Or is there some ulterior secret hidden in his pile of bad accounts, and now he finally decided to find someone to reveal it?

I went back to the room and looked at the old pen on the table.

No matter what his purpose is, I have only one mission: to investigate every account and survive these five years.

Others are outside the scope of my calculation.

0