Chapter 2

I could see clearly the ring on James's left ring finger.

A platinum band with a carved wolf head on top. The wolf's eyes were set with tiny black diamonds, glinting with a cold light under the lamp.

That was the patriarch ring of The Smith Family.

Another punch.

The dull thud of fist hitting flesh.

The crisp crack of breaking bone.

The man's screams had turned into muffled whimpers. Blood and broken teeth spewed from his mouth, splattering onto the expensive carpet in dark, almost black stains.

In the entire room, there was no sound except the thuds of flesh being pounded and suppressed breathing.

James's men, including the bodyguard standing beside me, stood still like statues, as if the bloody scene before them was just routine.

All the blood in my body froze. My legs felt like they were filled with lead, unable to move.

I'd dealt with threatening clients and difficult revenue officers. I thought I was calm and strong enough. But the scene before me was raw violence I'd never witnessed.

A chill rose from the soles of my feet. I was shaking all over with fear, my heart racing, yet I couldn't look away.

Finally, James stopped.

He took the silk handkerchief handed to him by a subordinate and methodically wiped the blood from his knuckles, as if he'd just dealt with an insignificant piece of trash.

The man on the floor was still twitching, making dying sounds.

James stood up and walked over to him, looking down from above.

His shadow completely covered the man, carrying the scent of death.

"I gave you a chance."

His voice was deep and magnetic, with a hint of hoarseness, yet it made you feel fear from the bottom of your heart.

"But you chose the wrong master."

As soon as he finished speaking, he pulled out a knife from behind his waist.

A flash of blade.

The knife plunged cleanly into the accountant's neck. Blood gushed out.

The man twitched a few times, then went completely silent.

James expressionlessly pulled out the knife, wiped the blade on the dead man's clothes, then casually tossed the knife to a subordinate.

With the tip of his expensive custom leather shoe, he carelessly kicked the corpse at his feet.

"Drag him out. Feed him to the dogs."

Then he lifted his head. Those wolf-like silver-gray eyes pierced through the bloody air and landed on me.

His thin lips parted slightly, his voice carrying a hint of cruelty.

"Those betray me never get to keep their bodies intact."

I saw Michael in the corner, pressed hard against the wall by two bodyguards in black suits, his hands tied behind his back.

He had bruises on his face and a split lip. When he saw me, his usually bright eyes dimmed, filled with pleading.

Michael's lips moved, but he didn't dare speak, afraid of angering the man on the sofa who had just killed someone.

My heart clenched sharply, the pain making it hard to breathe.

But I couldn't shake, couldn't back down.

For Mary's sake, I had no way out.

Kai, James's bodyguard beside me, noticed my body tensing and glanced at me.

Everyone else was keeping their heads down in fear, not daring to look at the corpse. Only I didn't.

My gaze moved from James's handsome face, swept past the corpse, and landed on the scattered account statements nearby.

Those were The Smith Group's accounts.

Next to the corpse, those blood-stained papers still showed clear numbers and tables.

My brain started racing. The traitor was that accountant, Michael had misappropriated money... these accounts...

A thread of logic connected in my mind.

The money Michael misappropriated was likely related to these accounts, and James executed this accountant because he knew the secret.

My composure seemed to surprise the man on the sofa.

James turned his head, his silver-gray pupils examining me like he was sizing up an object.

"Ma'am?"

He spoke, his voice carrying contempt.

"You're in the wrong place?"

I met his gaze, took a deep breath, and pushed down the nausea in my throat.

I took a step forward, carefully avoiding the blood on the carpet. Each step was difficult.

Finally, I stopped very close to him.

This distance was just right—close enough for him to hear me clearly, but not so close that his bloody scent and oppressive presence would affect me.

"Mr. Smith."

I looked straight into his eyes, my voice not loud, but clear enough.

"I'm Ella Thorne from Thorne Accounting Firm."

"I'm here about Michael. Please, just let him off the hook this time."

James looked like he'd heard a joke.

He snorted, leaned back into the soft sofa, his posture lazy but his eyes increasingly sharp.

"Spare him?"

He repeated the words with amusement.

"On what grounds?"

I raised my hand and pointed to the scattered account statements on the floor.

"Because I can help you clean up the mess he left behind."

My voice was steady, so steady I surprised myself.

"The five hundred thousand dollars Michael misappropriated—I can pay it back."

"But I have a better plan." I paused, then continued.

"I'll help you sort out all the tax compliance issues for The Smith Group's legitimate companies. Using legal methods, I'll make up for the taxes you've underpaid over the years. That amount will be enough to offset Michael's debt."

"As for the remaining gap, I'll cover it personally."

I deliberately emphasized the words "tax compliance."

I knew that The Smith Family was a big operation. Respectable on the surface, but definitely with gray accounts underneath.

Taxes were something they didn't pay much attention to, but could easily be attacked for.

Sure enough, the mockery disappeared from James's face. He narrowed his eyes slightly, a dangerous glint flashing in them.

He hadn't expected me to negotiate with him this way.

Kai, beside him, also showed surprise on his face.

The air seemed to freeze.

After a long moment, James raised an eyebrow. He slowly bent down, his slender fingers casually picking up a stack of reports from beside the corpse.

His movements were elegant, not at all like he was picking up blood-stained documents.

He casually tossed the stack of reports onto the coffee table in front of me.

The papers were scattered, the numbers and transaction records still carrying the scent of blood.

"Ten minutes."

James leaned back into the sofa and pulled a cigar from his pocket. A subordinate immediately lit it for him.

He took a deep drag and exhaled smoke that blurred his hard features.

"Find three fatal loopholes in here."

"Prove that you're qualified to make this deal with me."

Kai walked over and placed a sharpened pencil and a stopwatch on the coffee table in front of me.

The stopwatch was pressed. Red numbers started jumping.

James's fingertips held the cigar. Those silver-gray eyes locked onto me coldly through the curling smoke.

"If you go over time."

"Michael, and you, will both be sent to feed the dogs."

The threat of death instantly enveloped me. I couldn't help but tremble slightly all over.

I could feel Michael's terrified gaze from his direction.

I didn't look at him. I forced down the fear in my heart, bent down, and crouched in front of that pile of blood-scented papers.

In that instant, the world went quiet.

No blood, no corpse, no man who controlled life and death. Only numbers remained in my eyes.

I picked up the first report, my eyes scanning the dense transaction records.

Suddenly, a special code prefix stabbed at my eyes—"GL-77."

My heart clenched. I was too familiar with this coding habit.

This was Matthew. No, this was The Moore Family's signature "shadow account" technique. They would typically mix extremely small amounts of illegal funds into large legitimate transactions, like parasites feeding off the host's money.

I quickly flipped through the second and third reports. Sure enough, all the inflated procurement and tax loopholes pointed to the same destination.

The loopholes here weren't due to an incompetent accountant, but to a mole.