The heavy brass door of the private club suite was cracked open half an inch, letting a sharp sliver of amber light cut across the dark hallway carpet.
Elena stopped in her tracks, her silk rehearsal gown whispering against the oak wainscoting.
Inside, crystal glasses clinked over low, hurried whispers that sounded like venom.
Clara: Make sure she signs that final trust fund waiver before tomorrow morning. Once the vows are done, it becomes twice as complicated to transfer the family business shares.
Marcus: Clara, relax. She thinks I spent all week picking out floral arrangements for the estate garden. She has no idea what a deed assignment even looks like.
Elena felt the blood rush out of her face, leaving her fingers completely numb against her silver clutch.
That was Marcus. Her Marcus. The man she was set to marry in less than twenty-four hours in front of four hundred guests.
Clara: She inherited the whole estate because Charles never imagined I would find the codicil. If that forensic auditor calls her office back, the entire settlement falls apart.
Marcus: She won't answer any calls. I took her personal phone out of her purse before we left the penthouse. Told her I was plugging it into the car charger.
Elena’s hand slid into her silk coat pocket, finding nothing but cold air. He had actually stolen it right out of her bag.
Clara: The billionaire buyers in Chicago want the signed commercial deed by noon on Monday. Two hundred million dollars cash, Marcus. Your cut wipes out every single mortgage your family owes.
Marcus: And what about Elena?
Clara: She gets the cottage upstate and a modest monthly allowance. Enough to keep her quiet and docile. She never wanted the executive stress anyway.
Marcus: A simple life for a simple girl. Let's make sure the notary is waiting at the table.
Elena backed away silently, her breath hitching in her throat as her spine hit the wall.
She reached into her hidden inner jacket pocket and pulled out her backup company phone.
Her screen lit up with four urgent missed calls from Arthur Vance, her late father's corporate attorney.
Her thumb tapped the screen with trembling precision, holding the speaker to her ear.
Arthur: Elena? Thank God you picked up. Where are you? We just tracked the offshore transfers.
Elena watched through the crack as Marcus leaned down and kissed Clara’s cheek in congratulations.
Elena: Arthur... bring the police, freeze every joint account, and bring my father's original will to the country club right now.
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