Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Attic
The penthouse loft in the West Loop was stark, minimalist, and entirely mine. Purchased secretly six months ago using the proceeds from my grandfather’s estate sale, it boasted raw brick walls, high timber ceilings, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing skyline of the city.
For two hours, I sat at the kitchen island, drinking hot lemon water and watching the distant tail lights crawl along the Kennedy Expressway.
My phone remained completely silent—not because Dominic had stopped calling, but because my burner line was active and my main number was in digital quarantine.
Marcus stood near the door, holding a thick manila folder.
"You were right, Vivienne," Marcus said quietly, tossing the folder onto the marble counter. "I had our forensic accountant run a deep trace on Dominic’s corporate holdings over the last forty-eight hours. The inheritance from his uncle wasn't clean. He collateralized your personal equity—the brownstone your grandfather left you—to bail out his failing logistics firm six months ago."
I didn't even blink. I opened the folder and flipped through the notarized mortgage transfers, my signature expertly forged at the bottom of page four.
"Forgery," I murmured, tracing the fake pen strokes with my fingertip. "He forged my signature on a commercial lien."
"Penitentiary-level forgery," Marcus corrected grimly. "And that's not all. Chloe didn't lose a diamond heirloom tonight, Vivienne. That was a setup. The insurance appraisal on that necklace was scheduled for tomorrow morning. They needed it reported 'stolen' during a high-profile public event to collect a two-million-dollar insurance payout on a fake stone while liquidating the real one to cover corporate debt."
A slow, chilling smile touched my lips. They thought I was a naive, dependent orphan. They had no idea I spent four years working as a corporate compliance auditor for federal financial agencies before I met Dominic at a charity gala where he played the role of the struggling, romantic entrepreneur.
May you like
I wasn't a charity case. I was the person who wrote the compliance manuals they were currently breaking.
"Marcus," I said, closing the folder with a soft snap. "Contact the state insurance fraud bureau. Send them copies of the original appraisal documents, the guest list from tonight’s gala, and the forged mortgage lien. Let's see how much Chloe enjoys wearing handcuffs to her next society brunch."
