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Chapter 50

Author: Eva Green O.
last update Huling Na-update: 2026-03-04 06:34:47

Thora’s POV

I don’t sleep.

Not fully.

I drift in and out of half-dreams where numbers rearrange themselves into accusations and signatures blur into faces.

When my phone vibrates at 6:12 a.m., I’m already awake.

Unknown number.

I answer immediately.

“Ms. Greenwood?” a calm male voice asks.

“Yes.”

“This is Assistant District Attorney Reynolds.”

So it’s official now.

My spine straightens instinctively.

“I assume this is about December,” I say.

A pause.

“December,” he repeats carefully. “And befor
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  • Step Aside, dear ex   Chapter 50

    Thora’s POVI don’t sleep.Not fully.I drift in and out of half-dreams where numbers rearrange themselves into accusations and signatures blur into faces.When my phone vibrates at 6:12 a.m., I’m already awake.Unknown number.I answer immediately.“Ms. Greenwood?” a calm male voice asks.“Yes.”“This is Assistant District Attorney Reynolds.”So it’s official now.My spine straightens instinctively.“I assume this is about December,” I say.A pause.“December,” he repeats carefully. “And before.”Before.The word settles differently.“Can you come in?” he asks. “There’s someone here you need to hear.”The prosecutor’s office smells like paper and coffee and long nights.When I step inside the conference room, Luke is already there.He looks pale.Not surprised.Just bracing.Across the table—A woman I’ve never met.Mid-thirties. Quiet posture. Steady eyes.She doesn’t look dramatic.She looks observant.“Mara Hale,” Reynolds says. “Compliance.”The missing variable.She nods once at

  • Step Aside, dear ex   Chapter 49

    Mara’s POVNo one ever remembers Compliance.They remember executives.They remember board members.They remember courtroom statements and polished speeches.They don’t remember the people who log the numbers.That’s why I’ve survived here for eight years.Quietly.Correcting mistakes.Flagging irregularities.Watching them get closed.The first time I saw December 14th, I thought it was a clerical error.Audit flags don’t close in forty-eight hours without escalation.Not at this level.I reopened it.It closed again within twelve minutes.No comment.No explanation.Just override.That’s when I knew it wasn’t a mistake.It was a decision.I didn’t send the first envelope to be dramatic.I sent it because the courtroom was circling the wrong crime.Offshore accounts are ugly.But they’re survivable.Consulting retention tied to a regulatory board member?That’s rot.And rot spreads.I sit at my kitchen table with my laptop open, watching the news recap from today’s hearing.Quentin P

  • Step Aside, dear ex   Chapter 48

    Quentin’s POVI don’t panic.I calculate.That’s the difference between men who survive storms and men who drown in them.By the time I step into my office the next morning, the skyline is pale and unforgiving. The city looks clean from this height.It always does.My assistant meets me at the door.“You have three missed calls from the Board Chair,” she says.Interesting.“He didn’t leave a message?”“No.”I nod once.“Hold everything for twenty minutes.”She hesitates. “The prosecutor’s office also requested an updated financial breakdown. Expanded range.”Of course they did.“How expanded?”“Backdated to December.”There it is.I don’t react.“You can go.”The door shuts behind her.And the silence changes.December.That date has weight.Not because of the transfer.Because of the agreement.Agreements are not illegal.They are interpretations.And interpretations are survivable.Unless—Unless someone reframes them.I sit at my desk and open the internal security dashboard.No br

  • Step Aside, dear ex   Chapter 47

    Thora’s POVThe courthouse slowly emptied.People leave in clusters... lawyers, journalists, spectators who came for spectacle but got something heavier instead.I didn’t leave immediately.I stay seated.Because something about today didn’t settle.It shifted.There’s a difference.Luke’s testimony fractured something.Quentin’s didn’t defend — it redirected.And that offshore account?That wasn’t the center.It was a decoy.I’ve worked with Quentin long enough to recognize misdirection.He only lets you see what he’s already prepared to lose.By the time I stepped outside, the sky has gone pale and flat.Luke is waiting near the curb.He looks tired in a way that isn’t physical.“You okay?” he asks.“Not yet.”He studies me.“You saw it too, didn’t you?”“Yes.”“That wasn’t everything.”“No.”We stand in silence for a moment.Cars pass. Cameras linger from a distance. The city continues like this isn’t a fault line running under all of it.“I need access to the old internal logs,” I

  • Step Aside, dear ex   Chapter 46

    Quentin’s POVThey think I’m angry.That’s the mistake.Anger is messy.Anger reacts.I do neither.I adjust.The courtroom smells faintly of paper and old wood polish. I’ve always liked rooms like this. Order. Structure. Rules that can be bent if you know where to press.Luke sits behind her.Not beside her.Not touching her.But aligned.That detail matters.He won’t realize how much it matters yet.He still thinks this is about conscience.It isn’t.It’s about leverage.“Mr. Palmer, you may take the stand.”I rise without hesitation.The walk to the witness chair is measured — not slow, not rushed. Every movement communicates something whether people realize it or not.Control is perception.Perception is power.I sit.Swear the oath.The prosecutor approaches.“Mr. Palmer, did you authorize the transfer of funds on March 18th?”“Yes.”A small ripple moves through the room.Good.Let them think that was easy.“Under what authority?”“Executive contingency protocol.”“And who approv

  • Step Aside, dear ex   Chapter 45

    Luke’s POVThe doors of the court closed behind me with a slight final satisfaction.It was not supposed to have sounded so loud.But it did.Louder than the questions. Louder than the judge’s voice. Even more noisier than the quiet that had succeeded my last reply.Responsibility.It was still in my chest like I had gulp-swall-gulp-swall.I was leaving the corridor without having any perception of it, marble floors, pictures in frames, passers-by in suits and good old shoes. All turned into movement and clatter.My hands were shaking.I shoved them into my pockets.I hadn’t shaken on the stand.Not once.But now that it was finished, my body was following me in what I had just done.I would give testimony against my own brother.I did not go out with the rest.The reporters had already been congregated at the front steps. I was able to hear the swell of voices, the clicking of cameras, the harsh jolts of questions at anybody who happened to look to be involved in the case.Instead, I

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