“Revoke them both,” I said. “Have the fleet manager report them stolen if they aren’t returned by Monday.”
“Done. Now, the credit cards.” Elias typed rapidly on his keyboard, throwing a spreadsheet onto the large monitor on the wall.
We pulled up the transaction history for the secondary Black Card tied to my primary account. At first, it was the usual: golf club fees, dry cleaning, premium groceries. But as we scrolled back eight months, the anomalies flared like red sirens in the dark.
“Wait,” I pointed at the screen. “Aspen? Fifteen thousand dollars for a three-night stay?”
“Was he traveling with you?” Marcus asked gently.
“He told me he was in Boston for a client mediation.”
We kept scrolling. A five-star resort in Miami. A fifty-thousand-dollar charge at a high-end jewelry boutique in Chicago—likely the Cartier watch I saw gleaming on Vanessa’s wrist in the photos. An interior design showroom in SoHo. Hundreds of thousands of dollars siphoned from my accounts to fund his clandestine romance and impress a woman who thought he was a titan of industry.
“He financed his double life with my sweat,” I whispered. The betrayal stung my eyes, a phantom ache settling in my ribs, but I refused to let a single tear fall. Crying was for victims. I was the architect of my own rescue.
“Block the card,” Marcus suggested softly.
I logged into the portal on my phone and clicked Deactivate. In less than three seconds, Julian’s financial oxygen was cut off.
“We also found this, Harper,” Elias said, his voice lowering. He pushed a final, heavily redacted document forward. “Wire transfers from his personal account—which you regularly deposited a monthly allowance into—going to an LLC based in Manhattan called Apex Holdings. They are deposits for a luxury condo in the West Village.”
Julian was buying a love nest. With my money.
“But that’s not the worst part,” Elias continued, turning the page. “I flagged an unauthorized access attempt on Aura Tech’s escrow accounts late last night. Someone used Julian’s internal proxy to try and authorize a four-million-dollar wire transfer to Apex Holdings, categorized under ‘Consulting Fees for Helios Acquisition’.”
The room went entirely still. The air grew thin.
“He tried to embezzle company funds?” Marcus asked, his lawyerly composure cracking for a fraction of a second.
“He tried, but the dual-authentication you set up last quarter blocked it,” Elias confirmed. “He was trying to secure his golden parachute before you found out about the wedding.”
At that exact moment, my phone buzzed on the mahogany table. Julian.
I stared at the caller ID. I didn’t answer. A minute later, a text popped up: Harper, my card just declined at the resort. Did you do something? Also, I know you saw the pictures online. Eleanor told me. Let’s talk like adults. Don’t do anything reckless.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Reckless?”
“He has no idea what reckless looks like,” I muttered. I typed a swift reply: From now on, all communication regarding formal matters will go through my attorney. Have a nice honeymoon.
“Marcus,” I looked up, my vision perfectly clear, the last remnants of my marital grief burning away into pure, unadulterated resolve. “I want to list the Greenwich Estate today. I want it sold before he lands on Monday.”
Marcus held my gaze for a long moment. “A property worth eight million dollars isn’t a pair of shoes, Harper. But if you are certain, I will call Arthur Lynn.”
“I am certain. That house is no longer my home. It’s an asset. And it is time to liquidate it.”
Julian thought he was playing chess, moving pawns behind my back. He was about to find out he didn’t even own the board. But my phone vibrated again. An email from my CTO at Aura Tech: Harper, we have a breach. Someone is trying to download the Helios source code from a remote IP in Mexico.
