Chapter 3

The glass doors of Harper Technologies loomed before me, reflecting my image back at me—a woman I barely recognized. Gone was the trusting wife in designer dresses. Today I wore a tailored navy suit, hair pulled back in a severe bun, briefcase clutched like a shield. I was no longer just Samantha Kennedy, devoted wife. I was now a significant shareholder, here on official business.

I took a deep breath and pushed through the doors, the security guard nodding as I flashed my newly minted access badge. "Mrs. Harper," he said respectfully.

"Ms. Kennedy," I corrected him, my voice steady. "I use my maiden name professionally."

Confusion flickered across his face, but he nodded again. "Of course, Ms. Kennedy. The boardroom is on the twelfth floor."

The elevator ride gave me time to steel myself. Rodriguez's photos were securely tucked in my briefcase, along with preliminary financial reports that had raised more questions than answers. William didn't know I'd purchased shares in his company—the acquisition had been handled through my shell corporation, and the paperwork had only cleared yesterday.

As I stepped out onto the executive floor, voices drifted from the break room—familiar office chatter that stopped abruptly when a door closed. I paused, hearing laughter resume, louder now.

"God, he's not even subtle about it anymore," a woman's voice said, the words carrying clearly down the hallway. "Did you see them at the Donovan presentation? She adjusts his tie like she's his wife."

"While his actual wife has no idea," another voice added, followed by sympathetic clucking. "Poor Mrs. Harper. Everyone knows except her."

"Well, Mya gets all the perks, doesn't she?" The first voice again, bitter now. "Extended lunch breaks, private 'strategy sessions,' business trips to New York when the rest of us have to Zoom. Must be nice being the boss's favorite."

"Favorite? Is that what we're calling it now?" Male laughter joined in. "I'm just wondering if I need to sleep with Harper to get that corner office Mya's been promised."

I stood frozen, my knuckles white around my briefcase handle. The casual cruelty of their gossip made my stomach clench—not just the confirmation of William's affair, but the realization that it was common knowledge, a source of office jokes and water cooler conversation.

I was the punchline they all knew was coming.

Before I could move, the break room door swung open. Three employees emerged, still chuckling, then stopped dead when they saw me. Recognition dawned in their eyes, followed by horror.

"Mrs. Harper," one woman stammered, her face draining of color. "We didn't—I mean—"

"Ms. Kennedy," I corrected her, my voice ice. "I'm here for the shareholders' meeting."

They scattered like startled birds, mumbling apologies as they retreated to their cubicles. I continued down the hallway, my mask of composure firmly in place despite the humiliation burning through me.

The IT department was my next stop. As a major shareholder, I had requested access to certain company records—a perfectly legitimate business request that the nervous system administrator couldn't refuse.

"The security footage you asked for, Ms. Kennedy," he said, handing me a flash drive. "All internal video from the executive offices for the past three months. For the, um, security audit you mentioned."

"Thank you." I slipped it into my pocket. "And the access to the financial server?"

"Set up as requested." He pushed a sheet of paper toward me. "Your login credentials. You'll have access to all the accounting files, though some may require additional permissions from the CFO."

Back in the privacy of an empty conference room, I plugged the flash drive into my laptop. Hours of footage began to play—mundane office activities, meetings, people walking through hallways. I fast-forwarded through most of it, searching for anything involving William or Mya.

Then I found it. William's office, after hours. He was presenting Mya with a crystal award, something that looked like an internal recognition. But as she accepted it, his hands lingered on hers. Words were exchanged, smiles that held secrets.

Then he kissed her—not a quick peck, but a deep, passionate embrace that left no doubt about their relationship. His hands tangled in her hair, her body pressed against his desk. I watched, numb, as my husband lifted his assistant onto his desk, scattering papers as they continued their intimate encounter.

I closed the laptop, unable to watch more. The evidence was mounting, each new discovery another nail in the coffin of my marriage. But I needed more—needed to understand the full extent of William's betrayal.

That night, after everyone had left, I returned to the office. My shareholder access card let me into the executive suite where I began my real investigation. William's office was unlocked—the arrogance of a man who believed himself untouchable.

I sat at his computer, using the administrator credentials the IT manager had reluctantly provided. Financial records filled the screen—budgets, expenditures, payroll. At first glance, everything seemed in order.

But as I dug deeper, discrepancies emerged. Invoices for consulting services from companies that didn't exist. Wire transfers to offshore accounts disguised as vendor payments. Expense reports with inflated figures and forged signatures.

William wasn't just cheating on me. He was systematically embezzling from his own company.

I photographed everything, downloaded files, made copies of the most damning evidence. By the time I left the office at dawn, I had enough to destroy not just my husband's marriage, but his entire career.

The betrayal was complete. And so would be my revenge.