What Daniel conveniently forgot was that before marrying him, I had spent twelve years working in corporate forensic auditing for my mother.
Three weeks ago, I had found an authorization form bearing my signature. There was only one problem: I had never signed it. Then I found another. Then a vendor account I didn’t recognize. And finally, several large disbursements connected to a woman named Chloe Ruiz, Daniel’s “strategic consultant.”
By the time he thought I was just starting to get suspicious, I had already met with our corporate legal counsel, the bank’s fraud prevention director, and two independent board members. I never confronted Daniel. I didn’t want his excuses; I wanted evidence.
Before sunrise, I photographed the open safe, the missing documents, and every drawer he had touched, sending the files to a secure server my attorney had set up.
At 5:46 AM, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Daniel, not a call, but a photo.
