I traced the flow of money.
It was worse than I had imagined. Sterling Ridge Realty was hemorrhaging cash to fund their lifestyle and the transfers to Brin’s shell company. Marcus had stopped paying vendors. We were three months behind on payments to the construction crews for the new skyscraper in the financial district. We were in default on the interest for two major loans.
Marcus was robbing Peter to pay Brin.
My company—my life’s work—was a house of cards.
If the creditors found out, we would be insolvent within thirty days.
Then I found something that made me sit bolt upright.
An email chain between Marcus and a private investigator called Pierce Investigations.
The subject line was Surveillance. Target: S. Dubois.
Marcus had written: I need dirt. Whatever it is—infidelity, substance abuse, mental instability. I need grounds to avoid the prenuptial.
The response from Pierce read: Mr. Sterling, we followed her for six months. She goes to work. She goes to the grocery store. She goes to her mother’s house. She works late. There’s no dirt. The woman is a saint.
Marcus replied: Look harder or invent something. I can’t afford to give her half.
I stopped breathing.
Two years.
He had been planning to get rid of me for two years, but he couldn’t find a way to do it without losing money.
Then I found a more recent email dated one week earlier.
Forget the dirt. We go with the mental collapse angle. Her family will testify. Her mother and sister are on board. We’ll claim she’s overworked, paranoid, unfit to lead. We’ll force a motion of no confidence at the board meeting. Once she’s out, we trigger the buyout clause at the lowest valuation.
Then Carol had written: I can testify that she’s been erratic lately, very emotional. I’m worried about her, Marcus. We need to do what’s best for the company.
I stared at the screen, tears of rage blurring my vision.
My own mother was conspiring to have me declared mentally unstable so her golden child could steal my husband and my money.
“You want erratic?” I murmured. “I’ll show you erratic.”
I dug deeper.
The evidence of fraud was good, but fraud takes time to prove in court. I needed something immediate. Something that would terrify Marcus.
I found it in the tax filings.
The previous year, to secure a massive loan from a private equity firm, Marcus had inflated the occupancy rates of our commercial properties. He had forged lease agreements. He had physically falsified the signatures of tenants who did not exist.
This was not just civil fraud.
This was bank fraud.
A federal felony.
With prison time.
And the loan documents were signed by Marcus Sterling, CEO.
Not me.
I had been out of town for my aunt’s funeral that week, a funeral Brin had skipped. Marcus had told me he would handle the paperwork.
He had signed his own death warrant.
And he didn’t even know it.
I copied the loan documents. I copied the fake leases. I built a dossier that felt like a nuclear weapon.
Then I looked at the clock.
It was two in the afternoon.
I had been working non-stop for twelve hours. I was starving. I hadn’t showered. I was running on adrenaline and fury.
I needed a burner phone.
I couldn’t use my regular cell. They were probably tracking it or pulling the records.
I walked to a convenience store across the street and bought a cheap prepaid phone with cash. Back in the room, I sat on the bed and stared at it.
Who could I call?
My friends? Most of them were couple friends shared with Marcus. They would side with charming Marcus or stay neutral.
My family? Obviously not.
My employees? Too risky.
I needed someone powerful.
Someone who hated Marcus.
Someone with the resources to wage a war.
One man came to mind.
Elijah Vance.
Elijah was a billionaire real estate magnate in Atlanta—old money, ruthless, but with principles of his own. Three years earlier, Marcus had beaten Elijah for a prime land acquisition in the BeltLine development. Marcus had won by bribing a city councilman to rezone the land, a move I had fiercely opposed but Marcus had pushed through behind my back.
Elijah had suspected foul play.
He had publicly called Marcus a cheap-suited climber.
Marcus had laughed it off.
Elijah had never forgotten.
