Chapter 8 - The Ledger
Arthur left twenty minutes later, leaving Ethan with more than just a lecture—he left a physical address in downtown Brooklyn and a name Ethan hadn't heard in six years.
Marcus Thorne.
Thorne had been the senior forensic accountant for Calloway & Vance until he was unceremoniously pushed out during the firm's restructuring in 2020—around the same time Ethan had begun quietly shifting client funds into private accounts. At the time, Ethan had told Grace that Thorne was embezzling and had fired him quietly to avoid a public scandal.
It was the first major lie Ethan had told his wife.
And now, sitting in a dimly lit diner off Atlantic Avenue at 3:00 PM on a Monday, Ethan realized Grace had known it was a lie all along.
Marcus Thorne looked older. His hair was completely white, and he wore a frayed tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He didn't look up from his black coffee when Ethan slid into the vinyl booth across from him.
“You’ve got nerve, Calloway,” Thorne said softly, stirring his sugarless coffee with a plastic straw. “Coming here looking like a man who just lost his kingdom.”
“Marcus, I need to know what you gave Grace,” Ethan said, keeping his voice low. “Four months ago. You met with her, didn't you?”
Thorne finally raised his eyes. They were sharp, intelligent, and entirely devoid of fear. “I didn't meet with Grace. Grace came to me. She walked into my office in Queens holding every financial record you thought you burned in 2020.”
Ethan’s breath caught. “I burned those files.”
“You shredded them and threw them in the industrial incinerator behind the warehouse,” Thorne corrected, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips. “Unfortunately for you, I kept digital backups of every single ledger. Not because I planned to blackmail you, Ethan, but because Thomas Vance taught me to always keep a duplicate set of books when dealing with men who think they’re smarter than the market.”
“Why didn't you go to the authorities then?” Ethan demanded, leaning across the sticky table. “Why wait four years?”
Thorne’s smile vanished. “Because Grace asked me to wait. She told me her marriage was worth trying to save. She told me she wanted to give you time to stop on your own.” Thorne shook his head slowly. “You didn't stop, Ethan. You took her patience for stupidity. You took her quietness for weakness. And last week, when she caught you in St. Thomas with that woman... she didn't call the police. She called me. And she asked me if I was ready to help her bring the firm back into the family.”
Ethan sat back as if he had been physically struck. The diner around him faded into white noise—the clatter of plates, the hum of the refrigerator, the smell of fried grease.
May you like
Grace hadn't been plotting against him in secret for years out of malice. She had been waiting for him to prove, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he couldn't be saved.
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