“Ben,” I said, my voice carrying clearly across the dead-silent room. “I’m not here to cause a scene. I’m here to reclaim my property. But I do find it fascinating that you’re drinking my father’s scotch to celebrate a $550,000 mortgage you took out on my house this morning using a forged digital clone of my signature.”
The crystal tumbler slipped from Ben’s hand, shattering against the hardwood floor. Amber liquid splashed everywhere.
“What the hell is she talking about, Ben?” demanded Mr. Vance, one of the senior partners—and, ironically, the father of Chloe, the paralegal Ben was planning to run away with.
“She’s crazy!” Ben shrieked, his voice jumping an octave. He was backing away, sweat instantly beading on his forehead. “She’s lying! This is a domestic dispute! Officers, get her out of my house!”
“Actually, Mr. Sterling,” Detective Harris stepped forward, flashing her gold badge. “We’ve already verified with the shadow lender. The wire transfer to your offshore LLC was intercepted and frozen at 8:58 AM. We also have the USB drive containing the audio of your extortion threats, provided willingly by your accomplice, Maya.”
Ben’s knees buckled. He caught himself on the back of my velvet armchair. He looked wildly around the room, realizing every single exit was blocked, every lie was exposed, and every person he was trying to impress was now a witness to his destruction.
“Oh, and Ben?” I added, taking one step closer, twisting the knife. “Chloe isn’t coming to Belize with you. I had Miriam forward the flight receipts to her father here twenty minutes ago.”
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