Chapter 2

A week later, I sat down next to her with the household budget spreadsheet.

"Noah's preschool raised their rates again."

I flipped open the ledger.

"The joint account is running low. Is the company's cash flow okay?"

"The company's fine."

She barely glanced at the numbers.

"Gala budget was approved months ago. Just put it on the card for now. I'll wire more next month."

"The gala... is it at The Sterling?"

"Yeah. In The Observatory Ballroom."

Her eyes flickered.

"How'd you know?"

"Saw the signs driving by."

I lowered my eyes.

"Heard it's not cheap."

"It's our ten-year. We have to put on a good show for the investors."

She wrapped her arms around me.

"Once this sprint is over, we'll take Noah to Maui."

That empty promise again.

"By the way," I said, looking up. "Can I see the itinerary? I don't even know what my own company's anniversary looks like."

She went silent for a few seconds.

"Sure."

A minute later, the digital itinerary and seating chart popped up on my phone.

It read:

Head Table — Melissa Carter, Chair of the Board

Reserved Executive Seat — Blake Morgan, Director of Administration and Operations

"Keep it to yourself. Don't leak it."

"I know."

She got up to take a shower.

I took a screenshot of the itinerary and saved it to my personal cloud backup.

I didn't touch her laptop, nor did I try to dig into her private files.

I compiled her iMessage history with Blake, the joint account transfer records, and the gala itinerary.

I already had several company payment notices, wire transfer screenshots, and call logs from unknown numbers saved in that folder.

It wasn't enough.

A few days later, I met with Rachel Reed.

She was an old college classmate of mine, now a ruthless attorney specializing in California family law, commercial litigation, and asset tracing.

After listening to my summary, she sat in silence for a long time.

"Do not touch that laptop, Ethan," she said. "Secure what you already have. Leave the corporate payments to the forensic accountant and the board."

"And the phone?"

"Use the message backups and joint account records. Pull public social media posts. But no entrapment, and absolutely no secret recordings."

She opened her notebook.

"Melissa is the face, but Meridian is a California C corp."

"The cap table shows you own fifty-one percent. You are the majority shareholder."

"Family court will decide how those shares are divided."

"You have voting control, but you can't just bypass the board or the courts to liquidate assets."

"If we prove embezzlement, the divorce and the corporate fraud get handled on separate tracks."

"This is going to get ugly."

"I'm ready."

I looked at the traffic flowing outside the window.

"She's not draining my company to fund Blake's lifestyle anymore."

Rachel nodded.

"The board already has the whistleblower report," she said.

"A forensic accountant is auditing the payments. Preliminary files are already with the DA's Office."

"Your only job is to preserve the evidence you have."

"The Ethan Carter you knew died the day I found out about Blake," I said.

She closed her notebook.

"Then stick to the procedure. Don't let your anger give them a loophole."

After leaving the cafe, I drove to an electronics shop on the west side of the Bay Area.

The owner, Marcus Cole, was a guy I knew from college. He owed me a favor.

"Got what you asked for."

He slid a black box across the counter.

Inside was a micro lapel camera and an encrypted remote backup drive.

"This is only for the public stage and the ballroom. California is a two-party consent state. You secretly record a private conversation, it's inadmissible. Let Rachel filter the rest."

I pocketed the gear.

"I'll wire you."

Marcus gave me a hard look.

"Don't hit send on anything until your lawyer clears it. Don't put a target on your own back."

"I know."

I nodded.

"But I'm already past the point of no return."

That night, Melissa didn't get home until 2 AM, reeking of alcohol.

I helped her into bed, wiped her face, and took off her shoes.

She grabbed my hand in a drunken haze.

"Ethan... you're the best."

"Go to sleep."

I pulled my hand away and pulled the covers over her.

As I turned to leave, I heard her mumble incoherently:

"Blake... stop..."

I turned off the light and shut the door.

Standing in the dark hallway, I unlocked my phone.

Blake had updated his Instagram.

In a public post, he was wearing a Rolex and holding a glass of red wine, with the glass dome of The Observatory Ballroom in the background.

The caption read:

"Some moments deserve to be perfectly arranged. Three days left."

I didn't like it. I didn't comment. I just screenshotted the public post and the public comments beneath it, uploading them straight to my encrypted cloud.

After Rachel reviewed everything, she told me to keep only the joint account records, company payments, hotel receipts, public social media posts, and legally preserved audio files.

Everything else was sealed away for now.

Chapter 2

A week later, I sat down next to her with the household budget spreadsheet.

"Noah's preschool raised their rates again."

I flipped open the ledger.

"The joint account is running low. Is the company's cash flow okay?"

"The company's fine."

She barely glanced at the numbers.

"Gala budget was approved months ago. Just put it on the card for now. I'll wire more next month."

"The gala... is it at The Sterling?"

"Yeah. In The Observatory Ballroom."

Her eyes flickered.

"How'd you know?"

"Saw the signs driving by."

I lowered my eyes.

"Heard it's not cheap."

"It's our ten-year. We have to put on a good show for the investors."

She wrapped her arms around me.

"Once this sprint is over, we'll take Noah to Maui."

That empty promise again.

"By the way," I said, looking up. "Can I see the itinerary? I don't even know what my own company's anniversary looks like."

She went silent for a few seconds.

"Sure."

A minute later, the digital itinerary and seating chart popped up on my phone.

It read:

Head Table — Melissa Carter, Chair of the Board

Reserved Executive Seat — Blake Morgan, Director of Administration and Operations

"Keep it to yourself. Don't leak it."

"I know."

She got up to take a shower.

I took a screenshot of the itinerary and saved it to my personal cloud backup.

I didn't touch her laptop, nor did I try to dig into her private files.

I compiled her iMessage history with Blake, the joint account transfer records, and the gala itinerary.

I already had several company payment notices, wire transfer screenshots, and call logs from unknown numbers saved in that folder.

It wasn't enough.

A few days later, I met with Rachel Reed.

She was an old college classmate of mine, now a ruthless attorney specializing in California family law, commercial litigation, and asset tracing.

After listening to my summary, she sat in silence for a long time.

"Do not touch that laptop, Ethan," she said. "Secure what you already have. Leave the corporate payments to the forensic accountant and the board."

"And the phone?"

"Use the message backups and joint account records. Pull public social media posts. But no entrapment, and absolutely no secret recordings."

She opened her notebook.

"Melissa is the face, but Meridian is a California C corp."

"The cap table shows you own fifty-one percent. You are the majority shareholder."

"Family court will decide how those shares are divided."

"You have voting control, but you can't just bypass the board or the courts to liquidate assets."

"If we prove embezzlement, the divorce and the corporate fraud get handled on separate tracks."

"This is going to get ugly."

"I'm ready."

I looked at the traffic flowing outside the window.

"She's not draining my company to fund Blake's lifestyle anymore."

Rachel nodded.

"The board already has the whistleblower report," she said.

"A forensic accountant is auditing the payments. Preliminary files are already with the DA's Office."

"Your only job is to preserve the evidence you have."

"The Ethan Carter you knew died the day I found out about Blake," I said.

She closed her notebook.

"Then stick to the procedure. Don't let your anger give them a loophole."

After leaving the cafe, I drove to an electronics shop on the west side of the Bay Area.

The owner, Marcus Cole, was a guy I knew from college. He owed me a favor.

"Got what you asked for."

He slid a black box across the counter.

Inside was a micro lapel camera and an encrypted remote backup drive.

"This is only for the public stage and the ballroom. California is a two-party consent state. You secretly record a private conversation, it's inadmissible. Let Rachel filter the rest."

I pocketed the gear.

"I'll wire you."

Marcus gave me a hard look.

"Don't hit send on anything until your lawyer clears it. Don't put a target on your own back."

"I know."

I nodded.

"But I'm already past the point of no return."

That night, Melissa didn't get home until 2 AM, reeking of alcohol.

I helped her into bed, wiped her face, and took off her shoes.

She grabbed my hand in a drunken haze.

"Ethan... you're the best."

"Go to sleep."

I pulled my hand away and pulled the covers over her.

As I turned to leave, I heard her mumble incoherently:

"Blake... stop..."

I turned off the light and shut the door.

Standing in the dark hallway, I unlocked my phone.

Blake had updated his Instagram.

In a public post, he was wearing a Rolex and holding a glass of red wine, with the glass dome of The Observatory Ballroom in the background.

The caption read:

"Some moments deserve to be perfectly arranged. Three days left."

I didn't like it. I didn't comment. I just screenshotted the public post and the public comments beneath it, uploading them straight to my encrypted cloud.

After Rachel reviewed everything, she told me to keep only the joint account records, company payments, hotel receipts, public social media posts, and legally preserved audio files.

Everything else was sealed away for now.