Chapter 3

The house was a war zone.

I walked into the grand foyer. Movers were tearing the place apart. They hoisted heavy boxes out of the master suite with careless brutality.

"Throw that out. It's hideous," a voice barked.

Celeste stood in the center of the hallway. She held a clipboard like a battlefield commander. She wasn't playing the grieving, sweet friend anymore. She wore a sharp designer pantsuit.

A mover grabbed a hand-knitted blanket and shoved it into a plastic trash bag.

Margaret had knitted that blanket for me.

I took a step forward, but Graham stepped in my path. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.

"Don't cause a scene, Nora," Graham warned. His face twisted into a cold smirk. "Celeste is updating the aesthetic. It’s time for a fresh start."

Celeste glided over. She looked at me with a sickeningly triumphant glint.

"Oh, Nora. Don't look so sad. It's just junk," Celeste sneered. "By the way, I already had the charity shop clear out that dusty nursery of yours. Graham and I need the space for a home gym."

The nursery.

I had spent months painting and prepping that room. Graham had convinced me for years that we couldn't have children. Clearly, that was just another lie.

A year ago, her words would have shattered me.

Today? It just fueled my cold focus.

Graham slammed a stack of papers onto the console table.

"The divorce agreement," Graham demanded. He shoved a pen at me. "Sign it, Nora. The Caregiver Trust is completely empty. My mother's medical bills drained everything. You're lucky I'm not making you pay half the remaining debt."

Empty? I thought.

My inner auditor almost laughed. Thanks to his own careless email in the funeral director's ledger, I already knew there had been exactly $286,000 in that trust just hours ago.

He was trying to rob me blind. And he wanted me to thank him for it.

I didn't pick up the pen.

I wrapped my arms around myself. I forced my eyes to widen with fake panic. I played the exact role he expected: the terrified housewife.

"I... I can't just sign this," I stammered. My voice trembled perfectly. "How can it be empty? I need the official digital bank statements. I need to see the proof that the money went to the hospital."

I took a shaky breath. "If I don't see the ledger, I won't sign. I'll drag this out in probate court."

Graham rolled his eyes. His arrogance radiated off him like heat.

He didn't see an auditor setting a trap. He only saw a desperate woman who didn't understand finance.

"You wouldn't even know how to read a ledger," he scoffed.

He pulled out his phone and typed furiously.

"Fine. I'm emailing the trust's final closing file from my lawyer now. Look at the zeros yourself. Sign the paper by tonight, or my lawyers will destroy you."

Ding.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

"I'll look at it, Graham," I whispered. I kept my head down, playing the defeated wife, and walked out the front door.

I didn't stop until I was safely locked inside my car.

I pulled out my phone. The digital file was glowing in my inbox.

I opened the attachment.

Graham was so impatient to get rid of me. He only cared about showing me the "zero" at the bottom of the page. He didn't realize what his lawyer had left in the document.

It wasn't just a balance sheet. It was the complete bank ledger. It showed exactly how the account went to zero.

There it was. A singular, massive withdrawal of $286,000.

The recipient wasn't the hospital.

PAYEE: REED PUBLIC RELATIONS.

Memo: New Family Image Project — Phase One.

I stared at the screen, a slow, dangerous smile stretching across my face.

The idiot just emailed me his own bank fraud evidence.