I looked down at the silver USB drive still clutched tightly in my hand.
"No, Marcus," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Boot up the secure server. We have a lot of reading to do before tomorrow."
CHAPTER 2
The interior of the Maybach was completely silent, save for the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers and the low hum of the engine. I sat in the plush leather seat, shivering despite the heated cabin, staring blankly at the rain-streaked window as we pulled away from the house I had called home.
Marcus handed a thick, heated towel over the partition.
"Thank you," I murmured, wrapping it around my shoulders. I dried my hands and immediately reached for the reinforced leather briefcase on the floorboard. Inside was the encrypted corporate tablet I had sworn off when I decided to play house.
"Where to, Ms. Vance?" Marcus asked.
"The Lakeview penthouse," I replied.
I hadn't been to my real home in three years. I had told Harrison my landlord sold my old apartment when we moved in together. In reality, the triplex penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan had sat empty, maintained by a private staff, waiting for the day I needed to be Nora Vance again.
I plugged the small silver USB drive I had taken from Harrison’s desk into the side of the tablet. The screen glowed blue, illuminating the dark cabin.
The Q3 inventory manifest I had seen over his shoulder was just the tip of the iceberg.
My fingers flew across the glass screen, bypassing firewalls with my executive overrides. I pulled up the vendor file for Apex Logistics, the mysterious company bleeding money from the Midwest division.
"Marcus," I said, my eyes scanning the spreadsheets. "Run a background check on a corporate entity. Apex Logistics. Incorporated in Delaware."
Marcus tapped the earpiece on his right ear, relaying the command to the intelligence team back at headquarters.
As we drove onto the interstate, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Harrison.
Don't try to fight the divorce or ask for alimony. I transferred the funds from our joint savings into a private trust this morning. The account is at zero. You have nothing. Just take the fifty grand and disappear.
I stared at the text. He hadn't just kicked me out; he had financially ambushed me. Or at least, he thought he had. The joint account held eighty thousand dollars—money I had let him believe was our entire life savings. He thought he was leaving a pregnant woman destitute on the street.
The sheer cruelty of it suffocated me. I placed a trembling hand over my stomach. The baby kicked, a soft flutter against my palm, grounding me in reality.
"Got the file on Apex Logistics, Ma'am," Marcus said, breaking the silence. He tapped a button, and a document populated on my tablet screen.
I read the incorporation documents. My breath hitched.
Apex Logistics wasn't a real vendor. It was a shell company. And the registered agent was Thomas Harrison, my husband's younger brother.
"He’s stealing," I whispered, the reality washing over me like ice water. "It’s not just an affair. He’s been funneling corporate funds to a fake vendor run by his brother."