Chapter 3

In the next few days, I locked myself in my study, like a human scanner, and inserted page after page of Ian Vale's old ledgers into my newly created electronic database.

The work was smelly and long.

Vale's business empire was sprawling: real estate and financial investment at the core, with logistics, building materials, and even a few fringe entertainment companies hanging beneath them.

The flow of funds is like a tangled web, causing headaches.

I spend more than ten hours in the study every day and rarely go out except for eating and sleeping.

Ian rarely shows up either.

He leaves early and comes home late. Although we live in the same house, we can count on one hand the number of times we have met.

This is best.

Do not disturb each other, the highest efficiency.

Until late at night on the fourth day.

I am checking the annual report of a subsidiary called "East Bay Logistics".

After staring at the numbers for several hours, my eyes were as dry as sandpaper.

I put on two drops of eye drops, closed my eyes for a few seconds, and then opened them again.

At this moment, professional intuition sounded the alarm.

Something is wrong.

I quickly pulled up East Bay Logistics' monthly shipping details for the past three years.

At first glance, the accounts look good — revenue is growing steadily, costs are within a reasonable range, and profit margins are in line with industry standards.

But I set my sights on a specific line: the dedicated line from Nancheng to the northern suburbs storage center.

The single transportation cost of this line will rise slightly every month.

Five thousandths, or even three thousandths.

This kind of fluctuation is like a drop of water in the ocean in the huge total cost.

If you don't draw three years of data into a curve, you won't be able to find it at all.

I grabbed the scratch paper, quickly listed the key data, and used the calculator to deduce it.

In three years, all the "tiny increases" on this line add up...

The calculator showed one number: 1.2 million.

This is not a market move.

Someone was using that dedicated line like a leech, quietly bleeding Vale Holdings dry.

The technique is very clever — knowledgeable and extremely cautious.

If I hadn't re-entered all the original documents and cross-referenced them, this bad account would always be buried under the beautiful reports.

I stared at that number and felt a chill go down my spine.

This is no longer a financial mess.

This is embezzlement and a crime.

Just when I was about to dig deeper into the final flow of the funds, there was a knock on the study door.

In the silence of the night, the sound was particularly harsh.

I was startled and almost dropped the pen in my hand to the ground.

"Who?" I asked warily.

"Nora, it's me." Martin's voice came from outside the door.

I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to open the door.

Martin was carrying a tray with a glass of warm milk and a sandwich.

"Mr. Vale just came back and saw the study light was still on, so he asked me to bring you something to eat," Martin said with a smile. "He said staying up late wears you down, and you should not push yourself so hard."

I looked at the glass of milk and felt irritated.

What does Ian want to do?

It was as cold as ice during the day, and late at night snacks were served.

This sudden "concern" is more dangerous than losing your temper.

"Thank you Martin, I'm not hungry." I refused coldly, "And I don't have the habit of eating at night."

"Nora, please don't embarrass me." Martin sighed and brought the tray directly into the study and placed it on the coffee table. "Don't you know Mr.'s temper? If you don't drink this milk, I will have to pack up and leave tomorrow."

I know Martin is exaggerating, but I'm too lazy to dwell on this trivial matter.

"Put it there, I'll drink it later."

Martin nodded and backed out.

I didn't touch the glass of milk and sat back in front of the computer.

Just then, the phone vibrated.

The word "Mom" flashed on the screen.

My heart suddenly rose to my throat.

Calling me so late, something must have happened at the hospital.

I got through immediately.

"Hello, Mom? Is it dad..."

"Nora..." On the other end of the phone, my mother's voice was full of exhaustion and suppressed crying, "Your dad is not doing well today. The doctor said he had a lung infection and he just rescued him..."

I held the phone tightly, digging my nails into my palm.

"How much does it cost? I'll transfer it right away."

"There is still plenty of money in the hospital account..." Mom choked out. "I am just... scared. Nora, are you being treated well at Mr. Vale's home? Mr. Vale... he is not making things hard for you, is he?"

"No, Mom, I'm fine." I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady, "Mr. Vale is a serious businessman, I'm just helping him with his accounts, don't think too much about it."

"That's good, that's good. You have to take care of yourself and don't be too tired..."

When I hung up the phone, I felt like all my strength had been drained from my body.

I walked to the window, opened it, and wanted to get some air.

The night breeze is very cold.

I lowered my head and looked through the landscape trees in the yard to the terrace outside the main building.

Ian stood there.

He held a cigarette between his fingers, the scarlet butt flickering in the darkness.

He seemed to have just taken a shower and was only wearing a black bathrobe with the collar open.

He was looking up and looking straight at the window where I was.

I couldn't see his expression clearly from a distance of dozens of meters, but I could feel the weight in his eyes.

Like a net, covering it silently.

I subconsciously took a step back and yanked the curtains shut.

I hate this feeling of being spied on.

What I hate even more is that he appeared in my sight when I was at my most vulnerable.

I returned to my desk and forced myself to refocus on the numbers.

I have to find the vampire.

Only by proving my worth can I stand firmer in this cage.

Just when I was about to follow the clues to investigate, the study door was pushed open again.

This time, there was no knock.

Ian strode in with a faint smell of tobacco and the cold fragrance of shower gel.

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