“I suspect he’s already wiped all the information from that laptop as well.”
Dominic's expression was unreadable. He swiveled the chair slowly to face her directly. “So?”
Cynthia met his gaze. He hadn't said anything overtly intimidating, yet she felt an immense pressure building. Her lips parted, but for a moment, she didn't know what to say and instinctively lowered her head. In his presence, she felt like nothing more than an incompetent employee who had failed to deliver results, with no room for excuses.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to formulate a plan of action, something to offer him as a next step. But before she could speak, he rose from the chair and closed the distance between them. Just as she looked up, he reached out and tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
His irises were as dark as ink, his expression unreadable, yet Cynthia could sense his profound displeasure.
“So, you can't find the evidence, and you’re just going to let him go? Is that it?”
“No,” she shook her head.
“No?” Dominic’s laugh was cold. “Then why can’t you answer my question? When you came to me for this job, you were articulate, clear-headed, with a precise plan. Is this the extent of your abilities? Or does the mere mention of Benedict’s name rob you of the capacity to think?”
His words struck a nerve, leaving a tightness in her chest. “I will handle this,” she insisted.
He paused. “Whatever assets you recover, I will ensure you receive a dividend based on your former shareholdings, paid directly to your account.”
Cynthia froze. A chill crept up from the pit of her stomach. His voice was so detached, so clinical, that it felt as if he were drawing a final, definitive line between them.
“I understand, Mr. Holloway.”
A dull ache spread through her chest. She lowered her gaze, hiding the disappointment in her eyes. Even though his back was to her, she refused to let him see a single flicker of her true emotions.

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