Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 07

Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 07

“Keep it entirely off the books, Dad,” I said, pressing my cell phone hard against my ear.

I sat in the passenger seat of Victor Cross❖❖❖s tinted SUV. The city skyline blurred past the window, but my focus remained locked on the conversation.

“A shadow audit requires capital, Clara,” Dad warned. His voice crackled slightly over the connection. “Forensic accountants aren’t cheap. Especially the discreet ones.”

“I have the money.”

“From where? Jason froze your joint checking account this morning.”

“He froze the Mercer money,” I corrected. “He doesn’t know about the Vanguard fund.”

Victor glanced over from the driver❖❖❖s seat. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable, but his eyes sharpened with interest.

“The writing royalties?” Dad asked.

“And the old college scholarships,” I confirmed. “I never merged that account. It❖❖❖s strictly in my name. Jason thought my writing was a pathetic waste of time, so he never bothered to look into it.”

“I’ll call the bank and reactivate it today,” Dad said.

“Hire the best accountant you can find,” I instructed. “I want every dinner receipt, every wire transfer, and every offshore shell company from the last three years. Find his mistakes.”

“He hid his tracks well, Clara.”

“Arrogance makes people sloppy. Dig deep.”

“Done.”

I ended the call and dropped the phone into my lap.

“You don’t strike me as a writer,” Victor noted. He merged onto the highway, the engine humming quietly.

“I used to be a lot of things,” I told him. “Before I became a tax loophole.”

“A useful asset,” Victor mused. “But assets can turn toxic.”

“Where are we going?”

“My office. It’s time you saw what real toxicity looks like.”

Twenty minutes later, we stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of a glass-walled high-rise. Victor❖❖❖s office was minimalist and cold. Black steel desks. White leather chairs. No family photos.

He walked straight to his desk and picked up a silver tablet. He tossed it across the polished surface. It slid to a stop right in front of me.

“Zoe Thorne❖❖❖s perfect facade just cracked,” Victor announced.

I picked up the tablet. An email thread filled the screen.

“I dropped this into the Mercer corporate server an hour ago,” Victor explained. He leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “Anonymous tip.”

I scrolled through the messages. The sender was Zoe. The recipient was a man named Julian Pierce.

“Who is Julian Pierce?” I asked.

“Jason’s biggest competitor,” Victor said. “The man who outbid him on the downtown plaza and the harbor project last year.”

I read the attached documents. They were internal Mercer financial projections. Bidding strategies. Profit margins.

“She sold Jason’s bidding strategies,” I said, my voice flat.

“Every single one,” Victor confirmed.

I looked up from the screen. “Zoe was sleeping with Jason during the harbor project.”

“She was sleeping with both of them,” Victor corrected. “She played the obsessed, lovesick fangirl to get into Jason❖❖❖s bed. Then she went through his briefcase while he slept.”

A harsh laugh escaped my throat. I couldn’t stop it.

“She wasn’t chasing Jason for love,” I said.

“She was securing a payout,” Victor agreed. “She used him for corporate espionage.”

“Does Jason know?”

Victor reached over and tapped a button on his keyboard. A hidden speaker in the ceiling hummed to life.

“I tapped the executive boardroom this morning,” Victor said.

A loud crash echoed through the room. Someone had thrown a glass against a wall.

“Get that parasite out of my house!” Richard Mercer❖❖❖s voice boomed over the speaker. Jason’s father sounded absolutely unhinged.

“Dad, it’s a lie,” Jason pleaded. His voice trembled. “Clara is setting us up. She faked these emails.”

“Clara doesn’t have the security clearance for these server logs!” Richard screamed. “Zoe does! She forwarded our quarterly projections to Pierce. She cost us forty million dollars!”

“I can fix this,” Jason begged.

“Pack her bags,” Richard ordered. “Get her out of my sight, or you are entirely cut out of the family trust.”

The audio feed cut out. Silence settled over the office.

I stared at the black speaker grille. The untouchable Mercer family was eating itself alive. Jason thought he was the puppet master, stringing me along to save his father❖❖❖s company.

Turns out, he was just Zoe’s easiest mark.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

I swiped the green icon and brought the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Clara. Please don’t hang up.”

I froze. Jason❖❖❖s voice sounded weak. Ragged. The arrogant, commanding tone he used yesterday was completely gone.

“You’re calling from a strange number,” I said.

“My father confiscated my phone,” Jason said. His breathing came in short, panicked bursts. “He locked me out of the company accounts. The board is calling an emergency meeting.”

“Sounds like a busy afternoon.”

“Zoe set me up,” he blurted out. “She lied to me, Clara. About everything. The project bids, the emails, her ex-boyfriend.”

“I fail to see how this concerns me.”

“I was an idiot!” Jason shouted, his voice cracking. “I fell for a prank. I let her manipulate me. She played my ego.”

“She didn’t hold a gun to your head and force you to unbutton your pants, Jason.”

“I kicked her out. I threw her suitcases onto the driveway. She’s gone.”

“Good for you.”

“Come home,” Jason pleaded. “Please. We can fix this. I need my wife.”

“There is no home,” I replied, keeping my tone perfectly level. “There is just a shell company and a tax loophole.”

Dead silence stretched across the line.

“Who told you that?” Jason whispered. The panic in his voice shifted into raw dread.

“You played a stupid game,” I said. “Now you get to lose.”

“Clara, wait. We need to talk. Just you and me. Give me five minutes to explain.”

“Wait for court.”

I pulled the phone away and hit the red button. I immediately blocked the new number.

I dropped the phone onto the glass desk. My hands didn’t shake. My chest didn’t ache. I just felt entirely, blissfully detached.

Victor watched me from across the room. A genuine smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“He’s bleeding,” Victor said.

“Let him bleed.”

“A cornered animal is unpredictable,” Victor warned, walking around the desk. He picked up a manila folder and held it out to me. “He isn’t going to wait for a judge.”

“What is he doing?” I asked, taking the folder.

“He just booked a private charter flight to Seattle,” Victor said.

“And he hired a private investigator to find your exact address.”