Miller’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before reassembling itself into an expression of warm, condescending paternal concern.

"Of course, of course. I understand you had a... less than optimal experience with the cabin crew on Flight 472," Miller said, taking a seat three chairs down, adjusting his cuffs. "I have already issued termination notices for the supervisor and the attendant in question. A simple administrative failure by our third-party staffing agency, AeroElite Staffing. Unfortunate, but these low-level personnel issues happen in a global operation of our scale. You shouldn't concern yourself with such trifles, Eva. Leave the operational details to us."

"A simple administrative failure?" Eva repeated. She opened her tablet, swiping her fingers across the illuminated screen. With a quick gesture, she beamed her interface directly onto the four giant 8K displays mounted on the conference room walls.

The screens flashed, instantly displaying dense, highly complex spreadsheets, wire transfer diagrams, and internal email threads tagged with red compliance flags.

The air in the room instantly dropped several degrees. Miller’s jaw tightened.

"Let us talk about AeroElite Staffing, Richard," Eva said, her voice dripping with lethal composure. "For the last four years, Johnson Global’s European Division has outsourced ninety-two percent of its long-haul flight crews through this single firm. Their billing rates are thirty-five percent higher than industry benchmark standards, yet their employee compensation packages are forty percent below union minimums."

She tapped a document on her screen.

"I ran a forensic cross-reference of AeroElite's parent holding company, Vanguard Maritime Services, during my flight across the Atlantic," Eva continued, her gaze locking onto Miller’s face. "Vanguard Maritime is registered in the Cayman Islands. Its ultimate beneficial owner is an entity called Helios Investments Limited."

She clicked another button. A corporate registry document appeared on the wall, showing the signatures of the directors of Helios Investments.

"And who holds forty-nine percent of the voting equity in Helios, Richard?" Eva asked softly. "Your wife, Beatrice Miller."

The room went dead silent. The young analysts standing along the back wall stopped breathing.

"Eva, this is... this is an outrageous oversimplification of complex tax structures—" Miller stammered, his face flushing a deep, mottled red.

"You took kickbacks," Eva stated plainly. "For seven years, you funneled sixty million euros in flight-crew procurement contracts to a shell company you partially owned. And to maximize the profit margins of Helios Investments, you instructed AeroElite to hire untrained, unvetted, underpaid staff who were willing to ignore safety protocols, workplace dignity standards, and anti-discrimination mandates."

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the black glass table.

"You created an ecosystem of systemic toxicity, where crew members like David and Chloe were encouraged to act like petty tyrants toward anyone who didn't fit their narrow, bigoted definition of an executive passenger—all so you could skim twelve million euros off the top to fund your villa in Cap Ferrat."

Miller's paternal demeanor completely vanished. His eyes narrowed into bitter, furious slits.

"You think you can come in here, fresh off an heiress title, and lecture me on how to run an airline?" Miller sneered, abandoning all pretense of deference. "I built the European network! I secured the landing rights at Orly, Heathrow, and Frankfurt! I kept the operating margins above fourteen percent while the rest of the industry was sinking! Do you know what it takes to deal with European unions, aviation authorities, and fuel cartels?"

"I know what it takes," Eva said softly. "And it does not require stealing from the company or dehumanizing human beings."

"This is business, little girl!" Miller snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. "You sit up in your family tower because of men like me who do the filthy work in the mud! You want to throw away profitability over a rude stewardess and some tax structures that every corporate director in Europe uses?"

"You are mistaken about two things, Richard," Eva said, her voice as hard as cold steel. "First, I did not grow up in a family tower. I grew up in a damp, rented apartment in South London, watching my mother work three jobs while executives like you cut her benefits to inflate their quarterly margins. I know exactly what your 'filthy work' costs the real world."

She stood up slowly, her silhouette framed by the glowing lights of Paris behind her.

"Second, you are no longer the Senior Regional Manager of this division. As of five minutes ago, your access credentials have been revoked, your personal assets tied to Helios Investments have been frozen under emergency corporate freeze orders, and an emergency meeting of the Full Board has been summoned for midnight."

She looked around the room at the stunned, trembling executives.

"Prepare the boardroom," Eva ordered. "We have a house to clean."

Chapter 8: The Confrontation at the Head Office

Midnight in the grand boardroom of Johnson Global Paris was usually a serene affair reserved for annual dividend declarations and champagne toasts. Tonight, it felt like an operational war room under heavy siege.

The long table was ringed by twelve senior board members, three external legal partners from Paris's top white-collar defense firm, and four forensic accountants who were frantically cross-referencing ledger files provided by Eva’s team.