“Tyler has been funneling money through fake vendor accounts,” Rachel explained, her voice clinical. “He tried to apply for a job at Carter Holdings last month. He didn’t get it. Since then, he’s been trying a different route—using someone inside our accounting department. He’s also been taking out loans in your name.”
I stared at her, the blood draining from my face. “In my name?”
Rachel pulled out a second folder. Documents. My signature—except it wasn’t mine. The loops were wrong. The slant was too sharp.
“Identity fraud,” she said. “If he succeeds, you’ll be legally tied to over fifty thousand dollars of debt. And when he runs, which he plans to do within forty-eight hours, you’ll be the one holding the bag.”
A wave of nausea rolled through me. I pressed a hand to my stomach, protecting the baby instinctively. He was going to leave us with nothing. Less than nothing.
Rachel continued, her voice lowering. “There’s more. Tyler’s girlfriend—Madison—has been working with him. They’ve been watching you, waiting for you to sign divorce papers that include a hidden ‘shared debt clause.’”
I could barely breathe. The air in the car felt thin. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Mr. Carter believes you’re collateral damage,” Rachel said. “And because he wants you safe—and cooperative. He needs Tyler’s full confession to close the loop on the internal leak, and he needs you to stop him from disappearing.”
I shook my head, panic rising. “I’m not a spy. I’m an elementary school teacher.”
Rachel’s tone sharpened. “Then you’d better become one for twenty-four hours. If Tyler files those papers tomorrow, your life is over. Your credit, your home, your ability to provide for that child—gone.”
She placed a small, heavy card in my palm. A hotel key card. A sleek, black address embossed on the front.
“Mr. Carter wants to speak to you tonight,” she said.
I stared at the card, my pulse racing. “Why tonight?”
Rachel met my eyes, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear there. “Because Tyler already knows we’re onto him. And he’s making his move—right now.”
Chapter 3: The Architect
The hotel lobby smelled like polished marble and old money—two things that had never been part of my life. I kept my head down, one hand resting protectively over my stomach, the other clutching the key card like a weapon.
On the top floor, the elevator opened to a quiet hallway lined with art that probably cost more than my car. I knocked on the door of the suite. It swung open immediately, as if someone had been waiting with their hand on the handle.
Nathan Carter stood there.
He was in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie undone. He looked exactly like the photos in the business journals—sharp jaw, controlled expression—but his eyes were tired. They were the eyes of a man who carried the weight of too many secrets.
“Ava,” he said, calm but urgent. “Come in.”
The suite was minimalist, expensive, and strangely warm. Rachel was there too, standing near a laptop connected to a secure server. On the screen was a live video feed—grainy security footage of Tyler and a blonde woman walking into a bank lobby.
My stomach dropped. “That’s… right now.”
Nathan nodded, walking to the screen. “They’re trying to move the last of the laundered money and disappear before morning. They booked flights to the Caymans.”
I swallowed hard. “Why do you need me?”
Nathan turned to me. He didn’t waste words. “Because Tyler won’t confess to me. He’s too arrogant. But he might confess to you—if he thinks he can manipulate you one last time. I need you to get him to admit what he did. On record.”
Rachel slid a small, black recording device toward me across the glass table. My hands trembled as I looked at it.
“You want me to call him?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Nathan’s voice softened just a fraction. He stepped closer, not invading my space, but offering a kind of solid presence. “I’m not asking you to be brave for me, Ava. I’m asking you to be brave for your child.”
My throat tightened. Tyler had already abandoned us emotionally; now he was trying to bury us financially. He wanted to leave me in the wreckage while he sipped cocktails on a beach with Madison.
The anger flared again, hot and purifying.
I picked up my phone and dialed.
