AUBURN DISTRICT, CLARE IN IRELAND; BANKS ENTERPRISE...11 AM
Madden Banks stormed through the pristine, glass-paneled corridors of Banks Enterprise like a brewing thundercloud. His tall frame, clothed in an impeccably tailored navy suit, cut through the air with cold precision. His face was dark,sour enough to curdle milk. Staff members straightened instantly as he passed, whispering polite greetings that met a brick wall of silence.
"Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, sir."
He didn't flinch, didn't spare a glance. On a normal day, they'd receive a tight nod or maybe even a grunt. Today? Nothing. His jaw was clenched, and his shoulders were stiff with irritation, all thanks to one person...his sister.
Last night, she drugged him.
Drugged.
She had the audacity to lace his midnight coffee with a sedative,for his own good, she claimed in the note she left behind. As if knocking him out like a common patient at a dental clinic was some noble act. He'd woken late, groggy, disoriented, and raging. Madden Banks, the man known for his obsessive punctuality, had shown up to his own empire late.
He hissed through his teeth as the memory flashed again, throwing open the door to his office and slamming it shut behind him. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the quiet.
Outside, his secretaries exchanged nervous glances. Inside, Madden shrugged off his suit jacket, revealing the crisp, white shirt beneath. He slung the jacket over the sleek black hanger discreetly stationed behind his high-backed leather chair. The AC was already humming, but he still felt like he was boiling in his own skin.
He loosened his tie with one hand and popped open the top two buttons of his shirt. No relief. His sister's stunt had burrowed too deep into his nerves. He stalked over to the digital wall panel and dropped the temperature by several notches,borderline arctic.
Only then did he sit, his movements tight and angry. A thick stack of documents lay in front of him, screaming for his signature. He snatched the top one and began scanning, but the words were barely sinking in.
A knock cut through the silence.
Madden's head jerked toward the door, his voice like frozen steel. "Come in."
The door opened cautiously. A young man stepped inside, stiff in a well-pressed suit. He looked professional enough, but Madden's eyes narrowed,he didn't recognize this one.
"Good morning, sir," the guy offered, but his voice was laced with uncertainty.
Madden didn't respond. His eyes were assessing, calculating. He knew all his department heads and their assistants, and this guy was definitely not one of them.
"You are?" Madden asked, managing to keep the edge out of his voice,for now.
"I'm the new substitute assistant... from Mr. Stewart," the man answered, fidgeting slightly under the intensity of Madden's gaze. The chill in the room wasn't helping,he was already shivering.
Madden blinked slowly. Mr. Stewart. Mr. Stewart... Oh. Alvin.
His frown deepened. How could he have not pieced that together immediately? Alvin was the only one who had the habit,no, the nerve,to assign him substitute assistants without a full sit-down briefing.
"Right," Madden muttered, more to himself than the man standing before him. "Has Will handed the files to you?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Stewart arranged it. I collected them this morning," the assistant replied, holding his posture like a soldier at inspection.
Madden gave a slight nod, eyes back on the document. "Will's headed to the airport, right?"
"I... I think so?" The response was shaky, uncertain. Rookie mistake.
"You can go," Madden said flatly.
The man didn't wait to be told twice.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Madden grabbed his phone and dialed Alvin. It didn't even ring once before the line picked up.
"Hello, boss," Alvin answered, voice hoarse with exhaustion.
"You thought it was a good idea to send a new assistant without my approval?" Madden's voice sliced through the line like a blade.
"I'm sorry, sir," Alvin responded quickly. "I tried calling you several times. Your line wasn't going through. I panicked,I didn't want you working without support."
"That's not your call to make," Madden growled. "Next time, you wait. I don't care if the building's on fire,you wait for my greenlight."
"Yes, sir. Understood."
Madden exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his neatly styled hair. "Any update?"
"Not rea..."
"Not really?" Madden's voice jumped an octave, sharp with fury. "You've been in California nearly a year. Do you think I sent you there to surf and sip cocktails? The only thing you've managed is swapping out one wack assistant after another! You haven't uncovered a damn thing."
"I know, sir. I'm sorry. It hasn't been easy."
"Then make it easy," Madden snapped. "You're not there for easy. You're there for results."
"I understand," Alvin said quickly. Then, before Madden could hang up, he added, "But I did find something."
Madden paused, his grip on the phone tightening. "Speak."
"The woman who was in constant contact with your father before his death? Her background file says she's from California...but she's not. She's from Italy."
Madden went still.
"Italy?" he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes. I'm getting closer to accessing the backup files for the property transfer. That might tell us more."
"Then push harder," Madden ordered. "Get me that damn file."
"I'm on it. I'm a step closer now than I've ever been."
Madden ended the call with a swift tap, his phone hitting the desk with a soft thud. He leaned back slowly, eyes narrowed.
Italy...
A slow, dangerous smirk curved across his lips.
Looks like it was time to start investigating on his own.