Chapter 4 - The Shared Account
By two-thirty in the afternoon, I stood in the sleek, glass-fronted lobby of Nebula Systems in downtown Stamford, Connecticut. The receptionist looked up from her polished white desk, blinking in surprise as I walked past her toward the executive suites.
“Pardon me, ma’am, appointments are required—”
“I’m Clara Sterling, Eric Sterling’s wife and primary stakeholder,” I said, my voice carrying the icy authority of a senior risk auditor who was accustomed to tearing corporate balance sheets to shreds. She froze, intimidated by my composure.
I didn't stop at the front desk. I walked straight down the executive hallway, pushing open the double doors of Eric’s corner office without knocking.
Eric was standing by his desk, laughing quietly as he spoke into his phone, while Marcus—the man with the briefcase from my house—sat on the leather sofa reviewing a stack of papers.
Eric froze, the phone slipping slightly in his hand. His face drained of color.
“Clara?” Eric stammered, frantically ending the call. “What... what are you doing here? I thought your flight to Paris left hours ago! You’re supposed to be in France!”
Marcus stood up quickly, nervously adjusting his suit jacket, glancing between Eric and me.
I stepped into the office, pulled the audio recorder from my bag, and placed it gently on the center of Eric’s polished oak desk. I pressed play.
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“...and once Clara lands at Charles de Gaulle, I’ll lock our joint accounts and claim it was a security freeze. I’m filing for divorce on Monday...”
The speakers filled the quiet office with Eric’s crisp, betraying voice, replaying every calculated word of the morning’s conspiracy.
