Chapter 2

The security guards' hands were firm but not rough as they escorted me through the lobby I'd walked through countless times as Daniel's fiancée.

"Make sure she never sets foot in this building again," Daniel's voice echoed behind us, cold and final.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Gleason," one of the guards replied without looking back.

The glass doors of Gleason Tech closed behind me with a soft whoosh, sealing my fate.

But they had no idea what fate they'd just sealed for themselves.

I pulled out the encrypted phone Grandfather had given me years ago, my fingers steady now despite the storm raging in my chest.

"Jessica Vance," the familiar voice answered on the second ring.

"It's me," I said simply. "Cancel everything."

"The Hart Industries contract?" Jessica's voice was sharp, professional. "Are you certain?"

"Cancel the transfer immediately," I confirmed, walking toward the street. "Revoke all authorizations. Make it disappear."

"Consider it done. Where are you?"

"On my way to you."

Inside Gleason Tech's executive floor, I knew chaos was about to erupt.

CFO Marcus Webb would be the first to notice when he checked the pending transfers in an hour.

The fifty million dollars that had appeared like magic would vanish just as quickly.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of my apartment building, key card in hand.

The card reader blinked red.

I tried again. Red.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the doorman approached hesitantly. "Mr. Gleason left instructions that you're no longer authorized for access."

My blood turned to ice. "I live here."

"I'm sorry, but he said you've been... relocated."

Through the lobby windows, I could see moving boxes stacked by the elevators.

My boxes. My life. My belongings.

"Where are my things going?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"Storage facility on the east side," he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable. "Mr. Gleason said you'd know which one."

But I didn't know, and that was exactly the point.

Thirty minutes later, I walked through the marble lobby of the Four Seasons, my heels clicking with newfound purpose.

"I need your presidential suite," I told the concierge without preamble.

"I'm afraid that's a $15,000 per night accommodation, ma'am, and it's currently—"

I slid my black American Express across the marble counter. "Available now."

The concierge's eyes widened as he ran the card, and his entire demeanor shifted.

"Of course, Ms..." he paused, reading the name. "Ms. Hart. Right away."

An hour later, I stood in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the presidential suite, looking out over the city that had no idea it was about to witness a war.

My phone buzzed with a secure message from Jessica: "Transfer cancelled. Gleason Tech accounts frozen at exactly 3:47 PM. Their CFO tried calling the bank seventeen times in the last hour."

I smiled for the first time since this morning.

Another message appeared: "Team assembled. Awaiting orders."

I typed back quickly: "Full background sweep. Daniel Gleason, Edward Gleason, Amy Rivera. Financial records, personal history, hidden assets, dirty secrets. I want everything."

"Timeline?"

"Yesterday."

Within minutes, my laptop chimed with incoming files.

Jessica's team worked faster than any investigative agency in the world, and they had resources most agencies could only dream of.

The first file made my stomach turn: Amy's credit card statements, showing thousands of dollars in charges to restaurants I'd never been to, hotels in cities where I'd never traveled with her.

All paid for with the money I'd been sending her for "emergencies."

The second file was worse: text message screenshots between Amy and someone labeled "D" dating back eighteen months.

"She has no idea we're together," one message read. "Keeps sending money like clockwork."

"Good," came the reply. "Let her. Makes everything easier."

My hands shook as I scrolled through months of their secret relationship, their plans, their laughter at my expense.

But the final file was the most devastating of all.

Financial records showing that every dollar I'd sent Amy for her "mother's cancer treatment" had gone directly into a joint investment account.

An account she shared with Daniel.

They'd been planning this for over a year.

I closed the laptop and walked to the window, watching the sun set over a city that was about to learn exactly who Isabelle Hart really was.

My phone rang. Daniel's name flashed on the screen.

I let it go to voicemail.

Then it rang again.

And again.

On the fourth call, I finally answered.

"What do you want, Daniel?"

"Isabelle, thank God," his voice was panicked now, desperate. "There's been some kind of mistake with our funding. The transfer disappeared and—"

"Did it?" I asked innocently.

"You have to help me fix this," he pleaded. "I know things got heated today, but we can work this out. The company needs—"

"The company needs better leadership," I said softly.

"What are you talking about?"

I smiled, even though he couldn't see it.

"You'll find out soon enough."

I hung up and turned off my phone.