Chapter 1 - The Error Message
The green confirmation checkmark illuminated the darkness of the master suite.
It was done.
Every offshore account, every stock option, every hidden asset Julian thought he possessed had just been rerouted to a blind trust in my maiden name.
The transaction was completely untraceable and entirely legal.
I had been the architect of his financial structure since the day we met.
He was just the salesman.
Downstairs, the heavy bass of the music abruptly cut off.
A sharp, collective groan echoed from the party guests as the multi-million-dollar sound system powered down.
Then, the smart-lights flickered and died.
The loft was plunged into an eerie silence, lit only by the glowing skyline of Manhattan pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Julian’s heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.
"Clara!" he roared, his voice laced with venom.
"Did you touch the smart-home hub?"
He stormed into the room, his phone screen lighting up his furious face.
Vivienne trailed closely behind him, her arms crossed and a dramatic pout on her lips.
"Julian, this is ridiculous," she whined.
"My phone just said the Wi-Fi network doesn't exist anymore."
Julian ignored her, marching straight toward me as I remained curled on the hardwood floor.
My breathing was shallow, focused entirely on the life inside me.
"Get up and fix the breakers," he demanded, raising his foot as if to kick me again.
Before his expensive leather shoe could make contact, his phone buzzed violently in his palm.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
A cacophony of alerts began chiming from his pocket, relentless and sharp.
He paused, lowering his leg, and swiped to unlock his screen.
I watched from the floor as his expression shifted from rage to mild annoyance, and then to pure, unadulterated confusion.
"What is this?" he muttered to himself.
"Julian?" Vivienne asked, stepping closer to peer over his shoulder.
"It’s an automated alert from Goldman Sachs," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
"They... they just flagged a zero balance on the corporate account."
He frantically tapped the screen, opening his private banking app.
Face ID unlocked the interface.
The bold red letters reflected in his widened eyes.
Account Closed.
"No, no, no," he stammered, his fingers flying across the glass as he checked his personal checking, his savings, his offshore holding shell.
Every single screen returned the exact same message.
Insufficient Funds.
He dropped his phone, the device clattering against the mahogany floor mere inches from my face.
I slowly pushed myself up onto my elbows, the pain in my ribs pulsing with a dull ache.
I looked up at him, my expression completely blank.
May you like
"The board members are waiting, Julian," I whispered softly.
"You should really go play host."
