I didn’t answer.
My father did.
Dad wasn’t dramatic. He had spent more than thirty years investigating financial fraud for federal agencies. When he spoke like that, it wasn’t because he was angry.
It was because he had already seen something I hadn’t.
“Open every banking app you have,” he ordered.
I blinked.
“Dad—”
“Now.”
His voice left no room for argument.
“Change every PIN. Every password. Personal cards. Business cards. Travel cards. Emergency accounts. All of them.”
I stared at him.
“You think he’d actually try something?”
Dad looked toward the parking lot where Michael and Vanessa were laughing beside a luxury SUV.
“I think a man who can smile while destroying nine years of marriage is capable of more than you realize.”
So I sat on a cold metal bench outside the courthouse.
My hands shook as I changed passwords.
One account.
Then another.
Then another.
I removed authorized users.
Blocked access.
Locked company cards.
Restricted payment permissions.
Everything.
Michael walked past me again.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
I looked up.
“And you’re awfully confident.”
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes.
Then it disappeared.
That night, at exactly 8:40 p.m., Michael walked into The Sapphire Room, an exclusive private club in downtown Chicago, with Vanessa on his arm.
The membership belonged to my company.
