Chapter 18
(Evelyn’s POV)
I cross my arms and fix the financial officer with a sharp stare, every word that leaves my mouth laced with steel. “If you can’t do basic math, I’ll find someone who can.”
His smug expression falters, replaced by defensiveness. “The reason the funds are short is because of additional, unplanned expenses. The hospital’s budget was too low—we had no choice.”
Liar.
I don’t say it out loud. I don’t have to. I just stare him down, watching the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, the twitch in his jaw that betrays the lie before it even fully forms.
Calmly, I mindlink with my father.
“How much of the Gamma Camp budget is allocated to the hospital?” I ask, though I already know the answer. I need to hear it confirmed.
Father’s confusion filters through the link. “
The hospital should have more than enough. It’s one of the best-funded departments. Why?”
I cut the connection and turn back to the officer, letting silence stretch until it’s thick enough to choke on.
“Marlo, you are excused.”
“But—”
“I said you are dismissed!” My words crack like thunder, ricocheting off the walls of the small office. The old oaken desk between us may as well be an ocean.
Marlo does not whine, but he casts his eyes down, and so he should. His shoulders slump ever so slightly beneath his impeccably tailored suit. A suit, I wonder, even in my fury, how he could possibly afford. The polished veneer of confidence he’s maintained for years is fracturing now before my eyes.
I smell his desperation, though he tries so desperately to hide it.
“I want his personal accounts investigated,” I tell my assistant through gritted teeth. “I want to know everything—how much, how often, and who’s on the other end.”
The heavy door clicks behind him. My jaw aches, I’ve been biting my tongue for too long. “Leave no stone unturned, no transaction too small for scrutiny.”
The day’s investigating is tedious, long, and deeply unsettling. Each document tells a worse story than the next.
Coffee cups pile up beside me, their contents cold, bitter, wasted, much like the realizations that someone my father had trusted for so long had profoundly betrayed him.
I sit in my office long after the others have gone, surrounded by spreadsheets, transaction logs, and budget reports. The golden glow of the desk lamp creates a small island of light in the darkness.
The numbers don’t add up.
Not even close. I trace transfers, circle red flags, and highlight every discrepancy until my hands cramp from gripping the pen so tightly.
I’m no fool. This isn’t about mismanagement.
This is theft.
I look at my watch. If I leave this until the morning, I am giving him more time to conspire, to try to shield his greasy dealings with the Kingdom’s money.
I cannot allow that.
Quickly, I grab a jacket and in a few short minutes, the car drops me outside a gaudy, upscale restaurant that practically reeks of embezzled funds.
It’s midnight, and every affluent wolf is present. Velvet drapes, golden trim, and chandeliers dripping crystal. It’s where people come to show off, not eat.
And there he is.
Marlo.
Laughing. Drinking. Dressed in designer clothes, his salary couldn’t possibly cover it. I walk straight to his table, drop the file onto the pristine white tablecloth, and watch his face pale.
“On your salary,” I say softly, “how can you afford to dine here three times a week?”
He scoffs, trying to save face. “This is my personal time. I can eat wherever I want.”
I slam down the second file. This one contains everything—his offshore transfers, flagged accounts, and purchases that line up perfectly with hospital supply deliveries that never arrived.
“Are you seeing this, Marlo?”
He looks at the open file, his eyes glued to the page, his mouth glued shut.
“Can you explain six hundred thousand misspent and missing funding to this military hospital?”
He squares his shoulders, flips through the first pages of the report.
“Page eighteen.”
He turns to the page, inhales deeply, but never once looks up to meet the fury in my eyes.
“Whose account is that, Marlo? The one in the Caymans?”
He opens his mouth, closes it. Sweat beads on his temple.
I lean in. “You were swapping our hospital’s equipment for cheap, faulty knock-offs, weren’t you? Pocketing the difference. Warriors died because of you. You have been siphoning the funding for your own gains.”
His lip trembles. I don’t feel bad. Not even a little.
Not when I think about the Gamma warrior who bled out last month because the cauterizer malfunctioned. Not when I think about the broken beds, the lack of poultices, and bandages that should be in abundance, not to mention the overworked staff.
“Who helped you?” I ask.
He cracks because he is a coward; he does not hesitate to pass the blame.
The name tumbles out of his mouth like vomit: Avoper.
The Head Healer.
“Avoper is behind all of this! It’s true!” Marlo’s cool and calm demeanor has shattered into a million pieces.
“When did this start?”
“It’s…” he looks around as the pairs of eyes at his table silently scrutinize, and the panic of his new reality starts to settle in. “It’s been for years, but the last few months have…he’s been taking a lot more liberties.”
“You expect me to believe you have no hand in this, Marlo?” I scoff.
He casts his eyes down, but the pleadings for mercy stop. He knows he’s made a bed for himself, and regardless of Avoper, who I will eventually get my hands on too, he is just as responsible.
The dawn comes, and I am confined once more to the offices. But now, I am armed with proof, and I record everything.
Every word. Every confession.
The legal team has been notified, and they’ll prepare the necessary documentation—termination notices, criminal charges, lawsuits. I don’t just want them fired. I want them exposed.
I want everyone to see what rot looks like.
Gathering the hospital’s senior staff in the conference room, there’s an unmistakable tension in the air—the kind that sits heavy on your chest. I stand at the head of the table, files in my hand, gaze sharp.
“Before we begin,” I say, “I’d like to address some ongoing discrepancies in our budget and equipment logs.”
Gasps ripple through the room as I lay down the evidence piece by piece. There’s no shouting. No excuses. Just stunned silence.
“The Head Healer and Financial Officer have both been removed from their posts. Charges are being filed. We will not tolerate corruption in this hospital. Not on my watch.”
There’s a long pause. Then a single voice cuts through the silence.
“I’d like to thank you.”
I turn.
It's Kellan, the most skilled Healer in the hospital.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his hands always steady, his tone always calm. But today, his voice carries respect. “Most of us didn’t think anything would ever change,” he says. “But you came in, and in days, you’ve done more than the last five years combined.”
For a moment, the weight of the past weeks lifts. Just enough to let the pride seep through. I nod at him, and something like gratitude passes between us.
“Evelyn!” Chris rushes in breathless and on high alert, face. “Sorry to interrupt. A Gamma warrior was injured during patrol,” he says. “It was bad. Alpha Logan brought him in personally.”
I freeze.
Every part of me goes still, like the oxygen has been sucked from the room.
Logan. Here?
He wasn’t supposed to come. My father said he wouldn’t.
He promised.
