Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Boardroom
The rest of the wedding reception was a masterclass in psychological torture.
Evelyn and Dominic didn't sit at a secluded table in the back; they were seated at the VIP table directly adjacent to the head table, courtesy of Dominic’s unyielding insistence. Throughout dinner, not a single guest dared approach their table. People whispered behind napkins, avoided eye contact, and scurried away like mice whenever Dominic looked in their direction.
Claire spent most of the evening crying softly in the powder room, while Lucas Vale—Dominic’s younger brother, who had spent his life running from the family name—sat rigidly at the head table, staring down at his plate with a mixture of humiliation and betrayal.
When the dinner concluded and the guests drifted toward the dance floor, Dominic leaned close to Evelyn.
“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
Evelyn sipped her champagne, her eyes fixed on Richard Whitmore, who was sweating profusely while talking to two senior bank executives near the bar.
“I’m enjoying the silence,” Evelyn replied quietly. “For two years, every cellmate I had talked about how powerless we were against men like Richard. They destroy your life with a signature, and the law helps them bury you. Seeing him sweat through a $3,000 tuxedo because he realizes the bill is finally coming due? It’s better than caviar.”
“We aren’t done yet,” Dominic said softly.
Evelyn turned her head to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“The wedding was just the opening bell,” Dominic replied, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous intelligence. “Richard thinks his biggest problem tonight is a bad memory showing up in a red dress. He doesn’t know that while he was busy planning this wedding, my forensic teams were auditing the subsidiary accounts he transferred out of Whitmore Continental right before you were arrested.”
Evelyn’s breath caught. “You found the ledger?”
“We found the paper trail,” Dominic said. “Every shell company, every forged signature, every dollar he funneled into offshore accounts while framing you to take the fall. It’s all verified, certified, and ready to drop.”
“When?” Evelyn asked, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.
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“Monday morning at 9:00 AM,” Dominic said. “In the federal district court. And you’re going to be the one presenting the audit to the federal prosecutor.”
Evelyn stared at him, the weight of a two-year-old nightmare finally lifting from her shoulders, replaced by a surge of pure, unadulterated adrenaline. She had spent two years buried alive; now, she was going to exhume the man who put her there.
