Chapter 4

"We've got an eight-figure sum of idle cash sitting in corporate reserves, and I'm looking to park it in a high-yield certificate of deposit," I said, gently tapping my spoon against the edge of the porcelain cup with a soft clink, "I'll let you set a generous interest rate, Mr. Pierce."

Mr. Pierce rubbed his palms together, his face practically creasing into a giant grin. "You're far too kind, Sophie! We can definitely work out a fantastic rate for a balance that size!"

"Partnerships are a two-way street, though," I said, setting the spoon down on the saucer, "I need a small favor in return."

"Name it. Whatever you need."

"I need the full five-year financial statement for an individual bank account under the name Mason Callahan," I replied, "Itemized transactions, as detailed as you can get them."

The smile froze on Mr. Pierce's face.

The coffee cup hovered halfway to his mouth.

He hesitated for only a second before setting the cup back down on the table with a firm thud.

"Sophie, you're putting me in a tight spot here... But don't you worry," he said, lowering his voice, "I'll have my executive assistant hand-deliver the full printout to your office by tomorrow afternoon."

With our official business settled, I was about to exchange standard pleasantries before heading out.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a shady figure lurking near the entrance. I followed the reflection in the glass and almost burst out laughing right then and there.

Phoebe was crouched behind a five-foot-tall potted palm tree, convinced she was completely invisible. Only her eyes peered out through the fronds as she craned her neck to spy on me.

Did she honestly think a houseplant was a camouflage cloak? With an IQ like hers, that was probably the pinnacle of her espionage skills.

Deciding she was too far away to catch every detail, she pulled out her phone, zoomed in as far as the lens would go, and snapped a wild streak of photos.

I dragged my eyes back to my table, lazily swirling my latte spoon until a perfect little foam whirlpool formed.

Engaging with an idiot like her would only drag down my standards.

A second later, Phoebe started making a frantic call. She gestured wildly toward my table, her face twisted in a bizarre mix of malicious excitement and smug contempt.

I didn't even need to guess who was on the other end of that line.

Sure enough, in under three minutes, my phone vibrated heavily on the marble tabletop.

The screen flashed: Mason.

I swiped the bar slowly, tapped the speakerphone, and tossed the device back onto the table.

"Sophie!" Mason's voice thundered through the small speaker, barely holding back his rage.

I said nothing, taking a delicate spoonful of sweet milk foam instead.

"Phoebe told me everything!" he barked, "Did you seriously run off to apply for some loan shark cash just to pay for my mom's surgery? Do you actually think pulling a stupid stunt like this is going to make me forgive you?"

His voice oozed with arrogant assumptions and cheap insults.

I stayed completely silent, letting him put on his ridiculous performance.

When I didn't respond, he took it as proof that he'd caught me red-handed, his tone turning even more condescending.

"Listen, out of respect for our marriage, get back here right now," he demanded, "Apologize and beg for forgiveness from my mom, and hand over the rest of the savings from the last five years.

“I make ten grand a month. Over five years, that's six hundred thousand dollars. After basic living expenses, I'll be generous and say you owe me three hundred thousand.

"If you show genuine remorse and return every dollar, I might actually reconsider divorcing you," he added.

Listening to his delusional math and brainless entitlement, a quiet scoff finally broke from my lips.

"Mason," I said, leaning back into the soft leather couch, "Are you suffering from early-onset dementia, or are you just naturally this stupid?"

"You—"

Before he could scream another word, I hit the red button and instantly blocked his number.

Across the table, Mr. Pierce watched the scene with a sharp, intrigued look.

I gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that, Mr. Pierce. An annoying little fly was buzzing around, ruining our coffee break."

Mr. Pierce caught on instantly and let out a hearty laugh. "No worries at all, Sophie. When flies start buzzing, you just swat them dead."

I raised my coffee cup toward him.

"Here's to a great partnership."

We shook hands, and I stepped out into the afternoon air.

Mr. Pierce moved even faster than promised. Barely two hours later, an encrypted document landed straight in my inbox.

Scrolling through the massive, endless list of flagged transactions, I pulled up my contacts and dialed another number.