Chapter 3 - The Offer on the TableAdelaide’s breath hitched.
She dropped the papers back onto the desk as if they were burning coals. Her eyes snapped up to meet Maxim’s, her chest heaving with a sudden, furious spike of adrenaline.
"You bought it," she whispered. "You bought the whole damn building just to trap me?"
"I bought it three months ago as part of a portfolio acquisition," Maxim corrected, his voice flat, completely devoid of emotion. "The previous owner was overextended on gambling debts at one of my clubs. Taking over the facility was just business. Evicting your mother? That was news to me. My managers have strict instructions to maximize revenue on all secondary properties. They don't look at names; they look at ledgers."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his dark gaze boring straight through her.
"But when my people ran the background check on the outstanding balance accounts after Tuesday night... your name popped up. Adelaide Callahan. Thirty-two years old. Works sixty hours a week at a diner that smells like grease and despair. Sends eighty percent of her income to Sunset Manor. Lives in a walk-up with a broken radiator."
He picked up his red pen again, tapping it rhythmically against the blotter.
"And has the spectacular lack of survival instinct to tell me—Maxim Rosetti—that she's going to end me over a spilled latte."
"I meant it," Adelaide said, though her voice lacked its earlier bite. The reality of who she was sitting across from was finally sinking into the marrow of her bones. This wasn't a bad customer at the diner; this was a man who owned docks, politicians, and nursing homes.
"I know you did," Maxim said quietly. "That's the problem. Or perhaps... the solution."
He stood up, walking around the corner of the desk until he was standing just two feet away from her. Up close, he smelled of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and a sharp, metallic undercurrent of danger. He was tall enough that Adelaide had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye—something she rarely had to do with anyone.
"My logistics network is bleeding money," Maxim said, his voice dropping into a low, confidential murmur. "Ports in New Jersey and Brooklyn are leaking inventory. Containers disappear between the dock gate and the distribution hub. Millions of dollars in electronics, luxury goods, and dry cargo vanish into thin air, and my current operations manager is either too corrupt to catch it or too incompetent to care."
Adelaide frowned, squinting up at him. "What does that have to do with me? I flip pancakes and mop grease."
"You have a degree in logistics and supply chain management from Baruch College," Maxim said, watching her reaction closely.
Adelaide froze. The air left her lungs.
"How do you..."
"I do my homework, Adelaide. Your mother's medical history, your tax returns, your college transcripts from 2015 before you dropped out when your father had his stroke. You graduated top of your class in inventory control and database optimization. Instead of working for a shipping firm, you spent seven years covering double shifts at a diner because your mother needed twenty-four-hour care."
Maxim reached out, his long fingers sliding the manila folder closer to her edge of the desk.
"Here is my offer. Sunset Manor's debt is cleared, effective immediately. Your mother's care is guaranteed for the rest of her life, paid in full, in the best private wing they have. In exchange, you quit Gina's All-Day Breakfast tonight, put on a real suit, and come to work for me as my Director of Supply Chain Logistics."
The warehouse fell dead silent, save for the distant hum of a generator and the steady patter of rain against the corrugated roof.
Adelaide stared at him as if he had spoken in ancient Greek.
May you like
"You want me to be a mob accountant?" she asked incredulously.
"I want you to find out who is stealing from my family's docks," Maxim corrected smoothly. "And if you find them... you have my full permission to end them."
