After her hedge-fund husband slapped her in front of twenty executives, she rode the elevator down, hailed a cab to his office, and sent his $14 million embezzlement file to the board.

Three days later.

Ethan’s best friend and former coworker, Mark—the same man who had gave a low whistle and muttered "She really got you heated" on the rooftop bar—was sitting at his desk at Northstar Capital, looking frantically over his shoulder.

Mark wasn't just Ethan’s friend. He was his accomplice.

While Ethan executed the unauthorized trades, Mark had been helping him obscure the compliance alerts in exchange for a 15% cut of the profits. With Ethan behind bars, Mark was terrified that he was next. He spent his entire morning trying to wipe his work computer and destroy his personal hard drives.

At 3:00 PM, his office door opened.

I walked in, accompanied by two internal IT security engineers.

Mark jumped out of his leather chair, dropping a flash drive onto the carpet. "Claire! I mean... Ms. Vance! What are you doing in my office?"

I stepped into the room, picked up the flash drive from the carpet, and held it between two fingers.

"Cleaning up, Mark?" I asked softly.

Mark wiped sweat from his forehead. "Look, Claire... about that night on the rooftop... I was wrong. I should have stepped in when Ethan hit you. He was totally out of line! I told him later that he was acting crazy!"

"Did you tell him he was acting crazy when he transferred $200,000 into your personal trading account last Tuesday?" I asked, setting a printed spreadsheet onto his desk.

Mark’s face drained of color. "I... I didn't know where that money came from! He told me it was a bonus return on a private investment!"

"You signed off on three compliance override flags, Mark," I said, pointing to the highlighted lines on the sheet. "You knew exactly what he was doing. And instead of stopping him or reporting it, you covered for him because he promised to make you a senior vice president when he took over."

Mark fell back into his chair, his hands shaking violently. "Claire... please. Don't do this. I have a family! I have a mortgage!"

"So did the clients whose pension funds Ethan gambled away," I replied coldly.

I turned to the IT engineers. "Confiscate his workstation, his phone, and all external media. Mark is suspended effective immediately pending federal indictment."

Mark buried his face in his hands, sobbing quietly as security guards walked into his office to escort him out of the building.

As I walked down the executive hallway toward the elevators, I passed Ethan’s former office. The glass walls were covered in brown paper, the nameplate had been ripped off the door, and workmen were clearing out his furniture.

Coworkers who had ignored me or treated me like a useless trophy wife at corporate dinners now stood against the walls, looking at me with deep respect—and palpable fear. They stepped out of my way as I walked past, whispering in hushed tones.