The man stepped into Phoebe's office the moment permission was granted, his leather shoes clicking formally against the polished floor. Before he had even knocked, Phoebe had already dissected the financial spreadsheets forwarded to her inbox. But seeing the raw data on a screen wasn't enough, she needed to look the man in the charge of her capital in the eye.
"Good afternoon, Miss."
"Sit. Let's skip the pleasantries," she commanded, her voice dropping into a cold, transactional register. "I want to go through every single anomaly on this balance sheet."
"Understood, Miss." The analyst immediately opened the heavy leather binder, sliding a document forward. "This mirrors the digital data I transmitted earlier, but I've attached the itemized breakdown of the deficit here."
