Chapter 1: Lock Everything
Five minutes after my divorce became official, my father grabbed my arm outside the courthouse and gave me an order that would save my company.
“Block every card, right now.””
I stared at him.
Behind us, the courthouse doors opened and closed as people hurried into the cold Chicago afternoon. In front of me, my ex-husband, Brandon Hayes, was walking toward a black Cadillac Escalade with Savannah Pierce hanging from his arm.
Savannah was twenty-seven.
Brandon was thirty-eight.
I was thirty-six.
And nine years of marriage had apparently been worth less to him than the twenty-seven-year-old woman laughing beside him.
Brandon glanced over his shoulder.
He saw me watching.
Then he smiled.
“Don’t cry too hard, Elena,” he called.
“Some women just don’t know how to keep a man.””
Savannah covered her mouth, pretending to hide a laugh.
I felt my throat tighten.
My father didn't react.
Dominic Rossi had spent thirty-one years investigating financial fraud. He had watched people lie to federal agents, forge documents, hide millions through shell companies, and smile while doing it.
He looked at Brandon the way a doctor looks at an X-ray.
Not angry.
Interested.
Then he turned to me.
“Open every banking app you have.””
“Dad—”
“Now.””
I pulled out my phone.
He pointed at me with two fingers.
“Personal cards. Business cards. Travel accounts.
Emergency accounts. Everything.””
“You think Brandon is going to steal from me?””
“I think you were married to him for nine years.””
“That isn't an answer.””
“It is if you know what I'm looking for.””
I swallowed.
My hands were shaking as I opened the first banking app.
Dad crouched beside me.
“Change the PIN.””
I did.
“Password.””
I changed it.
“Remove every authorized user.””
My finger hovered over the screen.
“Brandon is an authorized user on two accounts.””
“Not anymore.””
I removed him.
Dad leaned closer.
“Next.””
Within twenty minutes, six corporate cards were frozen.
Three personal credit accounts were secured.
My travel account was locked.
The emergency account was restricted.
Every password Brandon had ever known was changed.
Every device connected to my financial accounts was logged out.
And then I remembered something.
“The black card.””
Dad looked at me.
“What black card?””
“The corporate card from 2021. The one I gave Brandon access to when he arranged dinner for one of my clients.””
His expression changed.
“What kind of access?””
“He had the card number saved on his phone.””
“Is it still active?””
“I think so.””
“Check.””
I opened the corporate account.
My stomach dropped.
The card was active.
“Freeze it,” Dad said.
I did.
He nodded.
“Good.””
Across the parking lot, Brandon opened the passenger door for Savannah.
She slipped inside.
Before getting into the driver's seat, Brandon looked back at me again.
This time, he didn't smile.
I couldn't explain why.
It was only a second.
But my father saw it too.
“He's got a card number,” Dad said.
I looked at him.
“You think?””
“I know.””
“How?””
“Because innocent people don't look at you like that when their divorce is over.””
I watched the Escalade disappear into traffic.
Dad stood.
“Come on.””
“Where?””
“To your office.””
“It's almost five.””
“Exactly.””
I frowned.
“Dad, I'm exhausted.””
“I know.””
“I've spent the last two hours in a courtroom listening to my marriage get reduced to paperwork.””
“I know.””
“I don't want to think about Brandon tonight.””
“You don't have to.””
He opened the passenger door of my car.
“You have to think about your company.””
That stopped me.
Rossi Design Group wasn't just a business.
It was the thing I'd built from nothing.
Nine years earlier, I'd had one tiny office, two employees, and a secondhand drafting table.
Now we had forty-seven employees, three studios, contracts with luxury hotels, private estates, restaurants, and high-end developers.
Our annual revenue had crossed eight figures.
I'd spent nine years growing it.
Brandon had spent nine years telling everyone he was part of it.
He wasn't.
But he'd made sure people believed he was.
At least, I'd allowed them to.
By 6:15, we were sitting in the executive conference room on the thirty-second floor of our River North office.
Chicago glittered beyond the glass.
Dad put his briefcase on the table.
I stared at it.
“You brought your work?””
“No.””
He opened it.
“Your work.””
Inside were printed bank statements.
I frowned.
“What is that?””
“Your company's operating account.””
“Why do you have those?””
“Because you emailed them to me last month when you asked me to look at the quarterly numbers.””
I remembered.
I'd sent him the reports because I couldn't understand why our cash reserves were lower than expected despite strong revenue.
Dad spread the papers across the table.
“Tell me something.””
“What?””
“Do you recognize this company?””
He tapped one line.
I leaned forward.
*Northstar Strategic Holdings LLC.*
“No.””
“Never heard of it?””
“No.””
“Good.””
He tapped another.
*$42,800.*
Then another.
*$67,500.*
Then another.
*$91,200.*
My mouth went dry.
“Those are payments?””
“Yes.””
“To Northstar?””
“Monthly.””
I looked at the dates.
2022.
2023.
2024.
2025.
2026.
Five years.
My pulse started pounding.
“How much?””
Dad didn't answer immediately.
He kept turning pages.
Finally, he looked up.
“Just under two million dollars.””
I pushed my chair backward.
“No.””
“Elena.””
“No. That's impossible.””
“You're looking at it.””
“There has to be an explanation.””
“There usually is.””
“What?””
“Fraud.””
I stared at him.
He folded his hands.
“Before we use that word, we verify.””
I stood and walked toward the window.
Below me, cars moved through the streets like streams of white and red light.
My reflection looked unfamiliar.
Divorced.
Thirty-six.
Owner of a successful company.
And apparently someone who had allowed nearly two million dollars to disappear without noticing.
“Who authorized these?”” I whispered.
Dad's answer came quietly.
“That's what we're going to find out.””
My phone buzzed.
I looked down.
An email from our accounting department.
*Subject: Corporate Card Issue*
I opened it.
The message was short.
Elena, several company cards are showing as frozen. Was this intentional?
I looked at Dad.
He nodded.
“Don't respond yet.””
“Why?””
“Because if someone inside your company is involved, we don't want them to know we're looking.””
My skin prickled.
Dad reached for another document.
“And there's something else.””
“What?””
“The transfers weren't the only thing I found.””
He slid a printed authorization form toward me.
At the bottom was an electronic signature.
Mine.
Except I had never signed it.
And beside my name was a date from three years earlier.
Dad's voice became very quiet.
“Elena, someone didn't just use your money.””
He pointed at the signature.
“Someone learned how to become you.””
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was an incoming call.
The caller ID made my blood run cold.
*Brandon.*
I looked at Dad.
He didn't say anything.
He just stared at the phone.
I answered.
“Hello?””
For three seconds, there was silence.
Then Brandon laughed.
“Did you really freeze my cards?””
I sat perfectly still.
Dad raised one finger.
Don't speak.
Brandon's voice sharpened.
“You've made a very stupid mistake, Elena.””
Then the line went dead.
My father slowly looked at me.
“What did he say?””
I swallowed.
“He knows.””
May you like
Dad's expression hardened.
“Then we have less time than I thought.””
