Switched Bride, True Luna - Chapter 36: Chapter 36

Emily
By the time I stepped back into Logan’s office, the air felt colder. Or maybe it was just him.
He didn’t look up when I entered. Didn’t acknowledge me at all, actually. Just flipped a page in the thick folder he was reading and said flatly, “Close the door.”
I did.
The other assistants were already there. Iris had sat at her desk all day pretending to be absorbed in her screen, but her posture screamed satisfaction. Carla kept stealing glances between me and Logan, trying—and failing—to hide a smirk. And Iris…
Iris was radiant.
Now, she stood beside Logan’s desk, holding a report, her body angled just so to make it clear she belonged in the room—and I didn’t. She caught my eye and smiled like we were sharing a joke.
We weren’t.
Logan’s his eyes flicked over me like I was just another document to assess, then he set down his pen and gestured toward a neat stack of folders on the corner of the desk.
“Finance reports from the past six months,” he said. “I want them reviewed. Prioritized by departmental impact. Especially the export grants and investment transfers. Flag anything that looks off.”
It wasn’t a request. And it wasn’t just work.
He was giving me the exact documents tied to the embezzlement rumors. The ones they was murmuring about behind closed doors. The ones I’d supposedly manipulated.
I knew what this was. It was a test.
I crossed the room without a word, picked up the stack, and met his gaze. “Anything else?”
His jaw shifted, just slightly. “Not yet.”
I turned and walked past the others, conscious of their eyes following me. Iris’s voice was the only one to break the silence.
“So thorough lately,” she said lightly. “It’s good to see you taking this role seriously.”
There was something sharp under the sweetness. It made my teeth ache.
I paused at the doorway and glanced back over my shoulder. “Someone has to.”
I didn’t wait to see her reaction. I had what I needed.
The hallway was blessedly quiet, but my pulse was thunderous. I could still feel Logan’s eyes on me—or maybe I was just imagining it. Either way, the pressure didn’t ease. It only shifted, settling in my chest like a stone.
I found the smallest office I could claim—barely more than a closet with a desk and a flickering screen—and shut the door behind me.
The folders felt heavy in my hands. I set them down gently, like they might explode, then sat and cracked the first one open.
Page after page of numbers. Names. Pack accounts. Grants. Line items I didn’t recognize—but would soon.
I took out my notebook and started listing them. Cross-referencing dates. Highlighting discrepancies. Somewhere between the second and third report, I realized my hands had stopped shaking.
They were steady. Cold, but steady.
There were too many gaps. Too many convenient omissions and duplicate transfer logs.
Someone had gone to a lot of effort to make it look like I’d funneled money from Logan’s accounts into shell vendors.
But the problem with lies was they always left fingerprints. You just had to know where to look.
I kept going. When the afternoon light began to fade, I had already flagged six suspicious entries and built a timeline that didn’t match any of the digital logs I'd seen before.
Someone had tampered with the physical records. Someone in this office.
And if Logan didn’t believe me now, he’d have to when I showed him what I was building. Assuming I could survive long enough to finish it.
A soft knock startled me. I looked up.
Iris stood in the doorway. She didn’t enter—just leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, smiling like a wolf who’d scented blood.
“Still working?” she asked. “Must be exhausting, trying to fix what you broke.”
“You mean the sabotage someone else did in my name?” I kept my face calm, even as my stomach twisted.
Her eyes glittered. “If you say so.”
"Logan must be thrilled to have such a… diligent assistant."
I didn’t answer. Just turned another page and made a note in the margin.
She didn’t take the hint.
“Though I suppose when someone’s under investigation, working late is... expected.”
I finally looked at her. Slowly. Deliberately. “I’m not under investigation,” I said evenly.
Her smile widened. “No, of course not. Just whispers. Just financial anomalies tied to files only you touched. A terrible coincidence, I’m sure.”
She stepped farther into the room. “I’m surprised Logan didn’t pull you off Pack matters entirely,” she mused. “But then again… maybe he’s just letting you dig your own grave.”
There it was. The accusation. I shut the folder and stood. Just enough to force her to stop walking towards me.
“Is there something you need, Iris?”
She blinked innocently. “Only trying to help. I remember how hard it was when I first started—juggling expectations, trying to be taken seriously.”
I didn’t flinch. “Is that what this is?”
She tilted her head.
“Helping?”
She held my gaze too long to be casual.
“Of course. Though if you’re struggling, I’m sure I could have Carla go over some of the more… complex records with you. She’s very good at catching inconsistencies. Especially the kind that might make someone look... guilty.”
I could feel the heat rising in my chest, a slow burn behind my ribs. Not fear—fury. Controlled and caged.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said coolly.
She turned, finally, but paused in the threshold. “Just remember—some messes don’t clean up easily. Especially when you're not used to getting your hands dirty.”
Then she turned and walked away, heels clicking like she was counting down my inevitable demise.
I sat back down and let the silence close around me. I didn’t let myself think any more about it. I just opened the next file and kept going.
If Iris wanted to frame me, she should have picked someone less familiar with being underestimated. Someone less used to being bullied.
I hadn’t broken then, I wasn’t going to break now.
I finished my preliminary notes and saved everything to a private folder on my encrypted drive and slid a flash copy into the hidden panel behind the file cabinet drawer. Just in case.
Out in the main corridor, the hum of conversation floated through the hallway. I passed Carla and another junior aide laughing over something on her screen.
They didn’t acknowledge me as I walked by. But I caught a single phrase.
“—she’s trying too hard.”
Let them think that. Let them think I was struggling. That I was fraying at the edges. That I didn’t know what I was doing.
Because by the time they realized I wasn’t breaking—I was building a case—they’d already be exposed.
Back at my desk, I set my files down, pulled out a fresh folder, and wrote a single word on the tab in clean, block letters: EVIDENCE.
Tomorrow, I’d start tracing the logins and physical copies. If I was right—and I was—someone had gone to a lot of effort to alter not just the numbers, but the paper trail.
And Logan? He’d asked for thorough. He was going to get it.
Whether he liked what I found or not.