Then I signed Adrian’s company forms with a conditional authorization rider.
Any transaction over ten thousand dollars involving my protected assets required separate secondary authentication from me personally.
Adrian never read the attached codicil.
He was too eager.
Too confident.
Too busy getting the papers back.
I told Marcus:
“He believes the transfer is scheduled for two this afternoon.”
“And your secondary authentication?”
“Routes to a private email Adrian doesn’t know about.”
Marcus was quiet for a second.
Then:
“And two-factor authentication?”
“Enabled.”
He actually chuckled.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“You didn’t build yourself a safety net.”
His voice turned dry.
“You built him a trap.”
I looked down at my coffee.
“That was the idea.”
“What do you want?”
“Start a forensic audit of the startup.”
“Done.”
“Contact the fraud division at First National.”
“I will.”
“And tell them the managing director of Vance Holdings may be attempting an unauthorized transfer using protected assets.”
Marcus asked:
“Where are you going?”
I closed my laptop.
“Home.”
“Why?”
I stood.
“To wait for my husband.”
PART 2 — THE PERFORMANCE
I returned to Westhaven around four.
The moment I unlocked the front door, the familiar smell of lavender and old wood hit me.
My house.
The house my father helped rebuild.
Hand-carved oak banister.
Stone fireplace.
Wraparound porch.
Thirty years of memories inside those walls.
Adrian was already sitting in the living room.
Scotch in one hand.
Leather briefcase open on the coffee table.
The moment he saw me, he put on the expression I knew so well.
Exhausted executive.
Overworked husband.
Nothing unusual.
“Hey, babe.”
He took a drink.
“Where were you?”
“I tried calling.”
“I was at Bellmere International Airport seeing my friend off.”
I placed my handbag on the table.
“How was your meeting?”
Adrian smiled.
“Oh, you know.”
He leaned back.
“Lawyers. Investors. Presentations.”
“The usual.”
I walked into the kitchen and poured water.
“Anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
The lie came easily.
Then he added:
“Actually, Claire…”
I turned.
“We should probably talk about the house.”
There it was.
THE PAPERS ON THE TABLE
“What about it?”
Adrian sat forward.
His voice changed.
Soft.
Patient.
Patronizing.
The tone he used whenever he wanted me to believe something was for my own good.
“With the startup expanding and the market being unpredictable, our financial advisors think the house would be safer under the company.”
I stared at him.
“How does putting my house inside your company make it safer?”
