Chapter 3 - The Morning After the MatchThe next morning, the sun rose over the Manhattan skyline, flooding the penthouse with a bright, unforgiving light. I sat at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of green tea, my laptop open in front of me. I had already spent three hours reviewing the financial audits of Vance Enterprises that my mother’s private investigator had quietly sent me during our honeymoon.
Ethan walked out of the bedroom, wearing a fresh gray suit and a pristine silk tie. The dark blue bruise beginning to form on his shoulder from the shoulder throw was hidden beneath his expensive fabric, but his movement was stiff and awkward.
He didn't look at me as he poured himself a cup of coffee. The arrogant bully from the night before was completely gone, replaced by a sullen, quiet corporate executive.
“I’m leaving for the office,” he said flatly, his hand resting on his leather briefcase. “My mother wants a full briefing on the Bali expansion project by ten.”
“Tell Judith I said hello,” I replied smoothly, not taking my eyes off my screen. “And remind her that our corporate lunch is still scheduled for Thursday.”
Ethan stopped, his back stiffening. He turned around, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “What are you planning, Maya? If you say one word to my mother about what happened last night—”
“I don't need to tell your mother anything, Ethan,” I interrupted, turning my laptop toward him.
The screen displayed a complex corporate organizational chart, with red lines connecting Vance Enterprises to three separate shell companies registered in Delaware.
“I spent the morning looking into the Bali project’s international wire transfers,” I said, letting a cold smile touch my lips. “Over the last six months, approximately four million dollars of corporate capital has vanished into these three dummy corporations. And the digital signatures on those transfers belong to you, Ethan.”
Ethan’s face went completely pale, his grip on his briefcase tightening until his knuckles turned a pasty white. “That... that’s an internal accounting structure. It’s perfectly legal.”
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“It’s corporate embezzlement, Ethan,” I said, my voice dropping into the precise, professional tone of a federal investigator. “You’ve been siphoning money from your family’s firm to pay off your private gambling debts in Atlantic City. If your mother finds out you've been bleeding her company dry to cover your addictions, the leather belt will be the least of your worries.”
Ethan stared at the screen, his breathing shallow and rapid. He realized the cage was shrinking. Every door he tried to open was already locked, and I was the one holding the keys.
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