Chapter 94: BONUS - : Apparently, I Need a Résumé

Chapter 94: BONUS Chapter: Apparently, I Need a Résumé

THE FOLLOWING DAY

9:47 A.M. — CROFT ESTATE

Allison woke late.

Not scandalously late.

Not Theo-on-a-Sunday late.

But late enough that 9:47 glowing on the bedside clock made her sit upright with the immediate conviction that something had gone wrong.

Nothing had.

No ringing phone.

No Lucian.

No Elias appearing on a screen with another financial catastrophe.

No Rachel Kim informing her that a footnote had personally destroyed forty minutes of her life.

Just sunlight slipping through the curtains and a suspicious amount of peace.

Allison stared at the empty side of the bed.

Then she noticed the note on Lucian’s pillow.

You were asleep. I committed the radical act of letting you remain that way.

Beneath it:

Board calls until noon. Rachel moved your next review session to tomorrow at nine. You are not employed by her. Apparently this needed repeating.

Then:

Eat breakfast.

Allison smiled.

Then she saw the final line.

Your father has been awake since before five. This information may be relevant to your safety.

Her smile disappeared.

"Oh no."

⸻

10:03 A.M. — CROFT ESTATE, KITCHEN

Susanna was eating toast.

That was it.

No crisis meeting.

No attorneys.

No laptops open to horrifying documents.

Just Susanna, toast and coffee.

"Good morning."

Allison waited.

Her mother took another bite.

"That’s it?"

"What?"

"Good morning?"

"Would you prefer trumpets?"

"Where is everybody?"

"Lucian left at eight. Theo called him at eight-oh-seven to complain that eight was an abusive hour for business."

"Correct."

"Roman took Elena to look at apartments."

Allison brightened.

"She picked one?"

"She’s looking."

"And you’re not there?"

Susanna stared.

Allison slowly smiled.

"Oh."

"Don’t."

"You’re growing."

"I will throw this toast at you."

Allison opened the refrigerator.

"Aaron?"

"With Rebecca."

"Dad?"

A pause.

Allison slowly looked over the refrigerator door.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing."

"Mom."

"He’s in his office."

"That wasn’t reassuring."

"Your father would like to speak to you."

"About what?"

"He’ll tell you."

"That is how people in this family announce kidnappings."

"No one has been kidnapped."

"Arrest?"

"No."

"Indictment?"

"No."

"Financial collapse?"

"Not since last night."

Allison narrowed her eyes.

"Did he buy something?"

"No."

The answer came slightly too late.

Allison closed the refrigerator.

"Why did you hesitate?"

Susanna smiled into her coffee.

"Eat first."

That was ominous enough that Allison obeyed.

⸻

10:18 A.M. — CROFT ESTATE, ADRIAN’S OFFICE

Allison had survived kidnapping.

She had survived Anthony Morrison.

She had survived discovering that an international organization had tracked her life before she was old enough to understand what being tracked meant.

She had survived Charles Calloway.

She had survived becoming Successor Protector of trusts she had never asked to govern.

She had even survived Rachel Kim correcting her for fifty-two consecutive minutes without throwing a binder.

None of it prepared her for Adrian Croft’s laptop.

ALLISON CROFT — PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT PLAN

Allison stared at the screen.

Then at her father.

Then back at the screen.

"No."

Adrian sat behind his desk with the calm expression of a man who had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions without blinking.

"You haven’t read it."

"I read the heading."

"That isn’t reading."

"That heading was enough."

"You expressed interest in a profession."

"I expressed interest in financial investigation."

"You spent approximately eleven hours doing it."

"Not consecutively."

"Important distinction."

"I also wasn’t employed."

"Another important distinction."

Allison narrowed her eyes.

"You’re enjoying this."

"Slightly."

The door opened.

Susanna entered carrying fresh coffee.

"I heard my name being misused."

"Nobody said your name."

"I could sense blame."

Allison pointed at the laptop.

"Did you know about this?"

"I knew there was a plan."

"There is also a spreadsheet."

Susanna winced.

Allison turned slowly toward Adrian.

"There is a spreadsheet?"

"It is supplementary."

"To what?"

"The plan."

"Why does the plan need supplementary materials?"

"Organization."

"That isn’t an answer."

"It is literally the answer."

Allison stared at him.

"Lucian said you’ve been awake since before five."

"Yes."

"When did you start this?"

Adrian hesitated.

"Dad."

"Four forty."

"Four forty in the morning?"

"I was awake."

"That does not make it better."

Susanna sat on the sofa.

"I told him it was psychotic."

"You also said it was thorough."

"They aren’t mutually exclusive."

Allison looked at the laptop again.

Then something beneath the ridiculousness clicked.

Her father was excited.

Not because she’d survived something.

Not because she’d outsmarted Charles.

Not because she’d activated some inherited authority.

Because she’d come home talking about something she might actually want to learn.

"You were excited," she said.

Adrian’s expression shifted.

Susanna smiled.

"He told Chef Louis you may have discovered your professional calling."

Adrian looked betrayed.

"He asked why I was smiling."

Allison’s head snapped toward him.

"You were smiling?"

"This conversation is deteriorating."

"You smiled because I liked financial records."

"Financial investigation."

"That’s somehow worse."

"It is more accurate."

Allison laughed.

Then she looked at the screen again.

At her name.

At another plan for Allison Croft’s future.

The laugh faded.

"Dad."

Adrian heard the change immediately.

"Yes?"

"This feels a little too much like somebody else deciding where I’m supposed to end up."

Adrian looked at the laptop.

Then closed it.

"Fair."

Allison blinked.

That had been fast.

"I got excited," he said.

"I know."

"And overstepped."

"You made supplementary materials."

"Yes."

"How many?"

Silence.

"Dad."

"Three spreadsheets."

"ADRIAN."

"One was comparative."

"That doesn’t help!"

Susanna laughed into her coffee.

Allison eventually did too.

Then she pointed at him.

"No universities."

"I haven’t contacted any."

Susanna coughed.

Allison slowly turned.

Adrian closed his eyes.

"Dad."

"One general inquiry."

"That is contacting someone."

"I asked about educational pathways."

"Without asking me."

"Yes."

"Internships?"

"No."

He paused.

Allison narrowed her eyes.

"Why did you pause?"

"I considered one."

Susanna covered her face.

"No arranging jobs. No internships. No contacting schools. And absolutely no buying anything."

"I wasn’t going to buy—"

Susanna made a sound.

Allison stared at him.

"Oh my God."

"It was hypothetical."

"You considered buying me a company?"

"No. I considered whether ownership of a small forensic consultancy might create unnecessary conflicts if you wanted practical exposure—"

"That," Susanna said, "is billionaire for yes."

Adrian looked offended.

Allison dropped into the chair.

"I cannot believe these are my parents."

"Unfortunately," Susanna said, "genetics have been confirmed."

⸻

10:46 A.M. — ADRIAN’S OFFICE

The laptop stayed closed.

That helped.

Eventually Allison asked, "Why did this matter so much?"

Adrian considered his answer.

"Because you talked about tomorrow."

She stilled.

"Not tomorrow as in another hearing. Another threat. Another person we need to find. Another thing Charles did." 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

His voice remained controlled.

"You talked about something you wanted to learn tomorrow."

Allison looked down.

"You’ve spent too much of your adult life discussing what comes next because something terrible forced the question."

His mouth tightened.

"Yesterday you came home annoyed about a footnote."

"It was a terrible footnote."

"You talked about it for nine minutes."

"Because it ruined my theory."

"Exactly."

Adrian leaned forward.

"You were wrong about something that didn’t hurt you."

That landed.

No betrayal.

No hidden file.

No person she’d loved becoming someone else.

She had misunderstood a financial document.

Rachel corrected her.

Allison learned something.

That was all.

Susanna took a sip of coffee.

"You didn’t call yourself stupid afterward either."

Allison looked at her.

She hadn’t noticed that.

Yesterday, when Rachel showed her the clause she’d missed, Allison’s first thought hadn’t been shame.

It had been:

Show me.

Allison glanced toward the closed laptop.

"Okay."

Adrian waited.

"Now show me the ridiculous plan."

His eyebrows rose.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He reopened it.

The tabs were worse than expected.

EDUCATION

CERTIFICATIONS

FORENSIC ACCOUNTING

FINANCIAL INTELLIGENCE

REGULATORY INVESTIGATIONS

POTENTIAL MENTORS

QUESTIONS FOR ALLISON

And—

DO NOT OVERSTEP

Allison pointed.

"What is that?"

Susanna burst out laughing.

Adrian looked faintly embarrassed.

"That was added later."

"By Mom?"

"No."

Allison clicked it.

Three items appeared.

1. DO NOT CONTACT UNIVERSITIES WITHOUT ALLISON.

2. DO NOT ARRANGE INTERNSHIPS WITHOUT ALLISON.

3. DO NOT PURCHASE A COMPANY SO ALLISON CAN INVESTIGATE IT.

Allison stared at number three.

Then at her father.

"Why did you need to remind yourself of that?"

"It was precautionary."

"For yourself."

"Yes."

Allison put her face in her hands.

⸻

11:04 A.M. — ADRIAN’S OFFICE

Once Allison recovered, she opened the education tab.

That was when the joke stopped being funny.

There were too many possibilities.

Degrees.

Certificates.

Accounting prerequisites.

Compliance.

Fraud examination.

Financial intelligence.

Investigative methodology.

Data analysis.

The list made yesterday’s excitement suddenly feel heavy.

Adrian noticed.

"We can close it."

"No."

"You don’t need to choose."

"I know."

Susanna came around the desk.

"Forget the career. What’s the next thing you actually want to know?"

That was easier.

Allison thought about Rachel.

"I want to know how she knows what to check next."

"Meaning?"

"I can notice when two things don’t fit. Rachel knows whether the mismatch matters. She knows what records test it. What innocent explanations exist. What she’s legally allowed to access."

That last part mattered.

Yesterday had made Allison’s position clear.

She wasn’t an investigator for the independent committee.

She wasn’t counsel.

She wasn’t an accountant.

She wasn’t authorized to roam through Calloway’s records because she happened to be curious.

Her legitimate role existed only where her Successor Protector authority intersected with the frozen trusts and holdings under review. She could examine cleared information relevant to those structures, ask questions, preserve records she controlled and make governance decisions if counsel formally brought them to her.

Anything beyond that belonged to Rachel’s team.

And Allison liked that.

Because if she ever learned to do this professionally, she wanted to understand the difference between finding an answer and merely having enough power to demand one.

"I don’t know how to do any of that," Allison finished.

Susanna nodded.

"So start there."

Allison picked up her phone.

Adrian immediately leaned back.

"I am not touching anything."

"Good."

She opened Rachel’s contact.

Then hesitated.

Adrian frowned.

"You confronted Charles Calloway."

"He was easier."

"That is deeply concerning."

"He wasn’t going to judge my résumé."

"You don’t have a résumé."

"Thank you, Dad."

"I was identifying the problem."

"Stop helping."

Allison typed.

ALLISON: Non-investigation question. If someone wanted to learn the fundamentals of forensic financial investigation without pretending she already knows what she’s doing, where would you tell her to start?

She read it once.

Then sent it.

The act was tiny.

It still made her stomach flip.

⸻

11:16 A.M. — ADRIAN’S OFFICE

Rachel answered eleven minutes later.

RACHEL: Accounting fundamentals. You cannot investigate records you cannot read. Then investigative methodology. Then legal/ethical boundaries. In that order.

Another message arrived.

RACHEL: Do not start with a "financial intelligence" course promising to teach you to catch criminals in six weeks. Half are nonsense.

Allison laughed.

Then:

RACHEL: If you’re serious, I can send three legitimate introductory options. No commitment beyond one course.

One course.

That sounded manageable.

ALLISON: Send them.

Rachel replied:

RACHEL: Tomorrow. Today you’re off.

Allison frowned.

ALLISON: You are not my employer.

RACHEL: Correct. Which means your inability to take a day off is currently someone else’s problem.

Allison smiled.

"I like her."

Adrian looked suspicious.

"I remain unconvinced."

⸻

12:02 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE, KITCHEN

Lunch became grilled cheese because Chef Louis had made the mistake of asking Allison what she wanted.

Adrian looked at her plate.

"You had access to anything."

"And I chose correctly."

"There is lobster."

"I don’t want lobster."

"Filet."

"No."

"Sea bass."

"Dad."

"Grilled cheese."

"Yes."

He sighed as though wealth itself had failed him.

Susanna dipped her sandwich into tomato soup.

"This is why you have control issues."

"I do not."

Both women looked at him.

Adrian reconsidered.

"Fine."

Then Allison’s phone buzzed.

An email.

Dr. Malcolm Avery — Introduction

She opened it.

Her expression changed.

Adrian noticed.

"What?"

She turned the phone.

His face tightened.

"I didn’t give him your email."

"You gave him my name."

"Yes."

Dr. Avery was polite.

Adrian had apparently asked about training routes for someone interested in forensic finance. Avery had inferred who that someone was and offered Allison a private consultation.

Adrian reached for his own phone.

"I’ll handle it."

Allison pulled hers back.

"No."

He stopped.

"I created the problem."

"Yes."

"So—"

"And I’ll answer him."

Adrian went quiet.

There it was.

The actual test.

Not whether Adrian could agree with boundaries while discussing them.

Whether he could respect one when fixing the consequence would be easy.

Allison read the email again.

Then typed.

Dr. Avery,

Thank you for reaching out. My father was enthusiastic and got ahead of me. I’m still exploring whether this is something I want to pursue, and I’m not ready for a private consultation. If your university has publicly available information on introductory accounting or forensic-accounting coursework, I’d be happy to review it myself.

Best,

Allison Croft

Her thumb stopped above send.

Adrian’s gaze had landed on the signature.

"Allison Croft?"

She looked at the name.

"Yes."

"Professionally?"

"I think so."

Susanna said nothing.

That helped.

Allison considered the name for another second.

"I love Lucian. That’s not changing."

Neither parent interrupted.

"But Croft feels like mine in a different way."

She shrugged.

"Maybe that’s the name I want on things I build myself."

Adrian’s eyes suspiciously brightened.

Allison pointed at him.

"Don’t."

"I said nothing."

"You’re doing emotions internally."

"That is not your jurisdiction."

She sent the email.

Done.

Adrian looked at his own phone.

Then deliberately placed it facedown.

Allison noticed.

"You’re not going to follow up with him?"

"No."

"Even though you caused this?"

"You said you’d handle it."

A smile tugged at her mouth.

"Good."

"I am capable of learning."

"Jury’s out."

Susanna lifted her sandwich.

"I vote guilty."

"This family has become hostile."

⸻

12:41 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE, KITCHEN

The conversation drifted after that.

Eventually Allison asked, "Were you disappointed?"

Both parents frowned.

"That I didn’t already have some huge career plan."

"No," Adrian said immediately.

Susanna shook her head.

"Allison, you were trying to survive."

"I know."

Her mother reached across the table.

"You don’t owe us an impressive life because we fought to keep you in it."

Allison went still.

"You can try this and hate it."

Adrian nodded.

"You can be terrible at it."

Allison glared.

"Supportive."

"I meant theoretically."

"You said that very comfortably."

Susanna laughed.

"What if I change my mind five times?"

"Then you change your mind five times."

"I’ll be twenty-seven."

"Probably."

Twenty-seven.

Allison sat with the number.

It sounded wonderfully far away.

⸻

1:14 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE, BACK PATIO

They spent part of the afternoon outside.

No lawyers.

No evidence.

No crisis.

For almost twenty minutes, nobody spoke.

Eventually Allison asked, "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you know what you wanted your life to look like when you had me?"

Susanna closed her book.

"No."

"Really?"

"Really."

"What did you know?"

Susanna thought.

"What I wanted you to have."

"What?"

"A childhood that belonged to you."

Allison’s smile faded slightly.

"We didn’t completely manage that."

"No."

Her mother didn’t soften the truth.

"But we tried."

A breeze moved through the trees.

Adrian looked toward the lawn.

"I wanted you to know you could survive without me."

Allison glanced at him.

"That sounds slightly better than whatever sentence you originally planned."

"It was."

Susanna laughed.

Adrian ignored her.

"I wanted you to have enough confidence, judgment and support that nobody could trap you by convincing you that you needed them."

His jaw tightened briefly.

"I didn’t anticipate Anthony. Or Charles."

"Dad."

"I know."

He exhaled.

"I know I can’t retroactively prevent either."

Allison reached over.

He took her hand.

"I don’t need you," she said.

His eyebrows rose.

"I want you."

He became very still.

Allison squeezed his fingers.

"There’s a difference."

"Yes."

His voice was quieter.

"There is."

"And I’m still calling you when my car makes noises."

"Obviously."

"And taxes."

"Yes."

"And if I need someone to explain why rich people keep inventing new kinds of trusts."

"That could take several years."

"See? Useful."

Susanna looked between them.

"You two are disgustingly sentimental."

"You started it," Allison said.

"I regret everything."

⸻

2:07 P.M. — ALLISON AND LUCIAN’S SITTING ROOM

Rachel broke her own rule.

The email arrived that afternoon.

You didn’t get this from me today.

Three course options were attached.

Allison opened them.

One was too advanced.

One seemed determined to turn fraud examination into an action movie.

The third was painfully ordinary.

Introductory accounting for professionals entering investigative, compliance or risk work.

Financial statements.

Ledgers.

Internal controls.

Transactions.

How companies recorded what they claimed had happened.

It looked boring.

Allison smiled.

Perfect.

She opened the registration page.

ENROLL

Her finger stopped.

Nobody was in the room.

That made the moment easier.

No Adrian waiting to approve.

No Susanna encouraging.

No Lucian telling her she’d be good at it.

No Rachel testing whether she was serious.

If Allison clicked the button, she wouldn’t become anything.

She would take a class.

That was all.

She clicked.

The form appeared.

NAME

Allison typed:

Allison Croft

OCCUPATION

She considered.

Typed:

Exploring.

The website rejected it.

Please select from available options.

Allison frowned.

"Rude."

She selected:

Other.

Twenty minutes later:

Enrollment complete.

She stared at the confirmation.

No revelation followed.

She was still Allison.

That felt important.

She took a screenshot.

Her thumb hovered over the family group chat.

Then she stopped.

For one minute, she kept the decision to herself.

Not secretly.

Just privately.

Hers before it became anyone else’s news.

Then she sent it.

⸻

2:31 P.M. — CROFT FAMILY GROUP CHAT

ALLISON: I enrolled in one introductory accounting course.

Three seconds later:

ADRIAN: Which institution?

Allison stared.

ALLISON: Wrong question.

A longer pause.

Then:

ADRIAN: Are you happy?

Allison smiled.

ALLISON: Better.

SUSANNA: Look at him learning.

ADRIAN: I dislike this chat.

LUCIAN: I’m proud of you.

Then—

THEO: DO ACCOUNTANTS GET SWORDS

SIMONE: Why would accountants get swords?

THEO: white collar crime is still crime

ROMAN: He’s got a point.

ELENA: No, he doesn’t.

THEO: THANK YOU ROMAN

ROMAN: I meant conceptually. You still shouldn’t have a sword.

THEO: betrayal.

Allison laughed.

Then:

ADRIAN: I have books.

ALLISON: NO.

ADRIAN: One book.

ALLISON: NO.

SUSANNA: Adrian.

The typing indicator appeared.

Disappeared.

Returned.

Finally:

ADRIAN: I will wait until she asks.

Allison looked at the message.

Then typed:

ALLISON: Thank you.

ADRIAN: You’re welcome.

Five seconds passed.

The typing indicator appeared again.

ADRIAN: For clarity, does "wait until she asks" include not mentioning that I have already identified the three best books?

SUSANNA: Adrian.

LUCIAN: You lasted five seconds.

ROMAN: Better than expected.

ELENA: Was it?

THEO: personal growth is not linear

SIMONE: Neither is unemployment if you keep talking.

THEO: why am I being attacked during Allison’s educational journey

Allison was laughing too hard to type properly.

Eventually she managed:

ALLISON: DAD. DO NOT SEND THE BOOKS.

The typing indicator appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

Stopped.

Then—

ADRIAN: Understood.

A full thirty seconds of silence followed.

Allison narrowed her eyes at the phone.

She knew her father.

ALLISON: You already bought them, didn’t you?

Nothing.

SUSANNA: Adrian.

Still nothing.

LUCIAN: Adrian.

Finally:

ADRIAN: That is a separate governance issue.

Allison dropped her phone onto the sofa.

From somewhere down the hall, Susanna shouted—

"ADRIAN!"

And Allison decided that perhaps forensic accounting would be useful after all.

Her first investigation already had a suspect.

⸻

2:47 P.M. — ADRIAN’S OFFICE

The suspect had left his laptop open.

Allison slipped into Adrian’s office and clicked the tab she’d noticed earlier.

DO NOT OVERSTEP

She added:

4. DO NOT MAKE A SPREADSHEET CALLED "DO NOT OVERSTEP."

5. ALLISON IS AN ADULT.

6. DO NOT BUY HER A COMPANY. SERIOUSLY.

Then she paused.

The next one wasn’t really a joke.

7. WAIT UNTIL SHE ASKS.

She saved it.

Behind her—

"I wasn’t going to buy you a company."

Allison screamed.

"WHY DO PEOPLE IN THIS FAMILY WALK SO QUIETLY?"

Adrian entered.

"My house."

"You almost killed me."

"You edited my spreadsheet."

"You needed guidance."

He read the additions.

His gaze stopped on number seven.

Then he sat down and typed:

8. ASK BEFORE HELPING.

Allison looked at him.

"That one’s good."

"I occasionally learn."

"Slowly."

"I can delete it."

"Don’t ruin your progress."

Susanna appeared in the doorway.

"What are you two doing?"

"Governance reform," Allison said.

Adrian sighed.

"She edited my spreadsheet."

"Good."

"This house lacks loyalty."

Allison closed the laptop.

"Meeting adjourned."

"You don’t chair this meeting."

"I have governance experience."

"Not over me."

"Technicality."

As Allison and Susanna walked toward the hallway, Adrian called after them.

"I’m keeping the reading list."

Allison glanced back.

"Okay."

Adrian looked suspiciously pleased.

"But don’t send it."

His face fell.

"I’ll ask when I want it."

A beat.

Then Adrian nodded.

"All right."

⸻

9:36 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE, ALLISON AND LUCIAN’S BEDROOM

Lucian came home late.

Allison was already in bed.

He stopped in the doorway.

"No binders."

"No."

"No transaction diagrams."

"No."

"Are you ill?"

She threw a pillow.

He caught it.

Then Allison handed him her phone.

The enrollment confirmation filled the screen.

"Accounting fundamentals," he read.

"Try to contain your excitement."

"When does it start?"

"Three weeks."

He handed the phone back.

"Good."

"That sounded suspiciously calm."

"Should I buy you an accounting firm?"

Allison stared at him.

"Did my father call you?"

"No."

"Are all billionaires like this?"

"I’ll commission a study."

"Lucian."

He laughed and sat beside her.

"You chose one course."

"Yes."

"And if you hate it?"

"I quit."

"If you like it?"

"I take another."

"And after that?"

Allison thought about the question.

Then smiled.

"Ask me after that."

Lucian smiled too.

"Okay."

He leaned over and kissed her.

Then glanced at the registration confirmation again.

"Professional name?"

"Allison Croft."

"Good name."

She studied him.

"That’s all?"

"What else would there be?"

Nothing.

Exactly.

Allison smiled and set the phone on the nightstand.

Tomorrow at nine, she would return to Rachel.

She would return to the investigation under the same rules as before: cleared records, defined authority, questions she was qualified to ask and professionals willing to tell her when she was wrong.

Soon Calloway’s employees would demand answers about pensions, jobs and money Charles had touched years before.

The world hadn’t become simple because Allison registered for an accounting class.

It didn’t need to.

Yesterday, she’d found something interesting.

Today, she’d followed it one step farther.

That was enough.

Lucian turned off his lamp.

Three seconds later Allison’s phone buzzed.

She frowned.

"Who is texting you?"

Allison picked it up.

A shipping notification filled the screen.

Your order has shipped.

Quantity: 3 books.

Lucian looked over her shoulder.

Silence.

Allison slowly lowered the phone.

"I’m going to kill my father."

Lucian considered that.

"Before or after you investigate whether he violated the governance agreement?"

Allison looked toward the ceiling.

"After."

"Good. Evidence first."

She turned her head.

"You’re enjoying this."

"Immensely."

Another notification arrived.

Gift message from Adrian Croft: YOU DID NOT ASK. THESE ARE THEREFORE NOT REQUIRED READING.

Allison stared at it.

Lucian lasted approximately two seconds before laughing.

She grabbed the pillow.

"Don’t."

That only made him laugh harder.

Allison threw it at him.

Tomorrow there would be money to trace.

Tonight, apparently, she had a billionaire to audit.

END BONUS Chapter

AUTHOR’S BLACK BOX

Allison does not choose a career here.

She chooses a class.

Adrian doesn’t suddenly stop being Adrian either. He still researches too much, plans too quickly and apparently considers buying companies a reasonable form of parental assistance.

The difference is that when Allison draws the line, he hears her.

Mostly.

The books are under review.