Chapter 5 - The Bank Account Bleed
“They’re moving the liquidity before the joint-account freeze can process,” I said, my fingers flying across my phone screen as I tried to log into my mobile banking app, only to find the login credentials rejected. Error: Invalid username or password.
“They locked you out,” Zachary said, leaning over the table. “How long have they had access to your primary login?”
“Andrew helped me set up the multi-factor authentication on his tablet last month,” I said, a cold sweat breaking out across my neck. “He had admin privileges for our joint household account. If he transfers that money into a corporate sub-account before midnight, legally it gets tied up in business assets during a separation proceeding. I won't see a dime of my inheritance for years.”
Zachary didn't panic. He pulled his own phone to his ear, tapping a quick speed dial.
“Marcus? Yeah, it’s me. I need you to pull up the corporate registry for Foster Architecture LLC right now... Yes, Bexar County filing division. I need every partner signature, every asset transfer record, and specifically the corporate officer filings submitted within the last forty-eight hours... Do it now.”
He hung up, sliding his phone onto the table. He looked at me, his expression unyielding. “My legal team handles corporate restructuring and asset recovery. If Andrew thinks he can rob you blind while drinking your wedding champagne, he’s gravely mistaken. But we need to move. Right now.”
“Where?” I asked, standing up from the booth, pulling my wrinkled wedding dress tight around my waist.
“To his office,” Zachary said, grabbing his jacket. “Before he clears the server.”
We drove through the twilight streets of San Antonio, the neon lights of the city blurring past in a streak of amber and red. By the time Zachary’s sedan pulled into the subterranean parking garage of the Frost Tower downtown, my hands were steady again—not with the trembling grief of a jilted bride, but with the cold, surgical precision of a doctor preparing for an incision.
We rode the silent elevator up to the thirty-second floor, stepping out into the sleek, glass-walled lobby of Foster Architecture. The office was dark, save for a single sliver of light glowing from the corner executive suite.
The door was unlocked.
I pushed it open. Inside, sitting behind my custom mahogany desk, wearing a loosened silk tie and laughing softly as he typed on a laptop, was Andrew.
Standing behind him, massaging his shoulders with a glass of wine in her hand, was Gemma.
Andrew looked up as the door clicked shut. The smug, relaxed smile on his face vanished instantly when he saw me standing there in my ruined wedding gown—with Zachary Howard standing right behind me like an executioner.
“Samantha?” Andrew stammered, standing up so fast his chair rolled backward into the glass partition. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to pick up my tools, Andrew,” I said, stepping into the office with a calm that made him pale. “Starting with the eighty thousand dollars you just tried to steal.”
Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, the heavy glass double doors of the office suite suddenly swung open behind us.
Stepping into the room wasn't just a lawyer or a police officer. It was a man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit holding a thick leather portfolio, accompanied by two armed security guards and a municipal judge holding an emergency injunction.
May you like
The judge looked directly at Andrew, his expression carved in stone.
“Mr. Foster? You’re going to want to sit down. We have a federal audit to discuss.”
