The morning after the charity gala, Isabella arrived at her office earlier than usual. Sleep had eluded her, her mind racing with possibilities and connections. She'd spent hours reviewing the security footage from the executive floor, searching for whoever had used her credentials to access the secure server.
The culprit had been careful—wearing a maintenance uniform, cap pulled low, face always angled away from cameras. Professional. Deliberate. The work of someone who understood Ashworth's security protocols intimately.
Isabella was reviewing the footage for the third time when Liam entered, carrying two cups of coffee.
"You look like you need this," he said, placing one on her desk. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Sleep is overrated," Isabella replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Any word from IT about what was accessed during the breach?"
