My name is Eliza Fenwick. For twelve years, I was married to Travis Fenwick. We had two children—Owen was nine, and Maisie was six. Long before

"Eliza?" Travis pushed the heavy door open further, his hand resting on the doorframe.

I forced myself to move. With lightning speed, I grabbed the open binder, slid it under the low skirt of the printer table, and grabbed a bottle of glass cleaner and a microfiber cloth from my apron.

I pushed myself up from the floor, intentionally knocking a heavy box of copier paper off the bottom shelf to create a loud distraction.

CRASH!

Reams of white paper tumbled across the tile floor.

"Oh! God, you scared me!" I gasped, clutching my chest with my good hand, letting out a breathless, panicked laugh that sounded entirely genuine.

Travis stood in the doorway, wearing his tailored charcoal suit jacket, holding a glass of scotch in his right hand. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the scattered paper on the floor, then at my face.

"What are you doing in here so late?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension as he took a slow sip of his drink.

"I’m cleaning, Travis," I said softly, lowering my eyes and adopting the posture of the defeated, exhausted woman he expected me to be. "The paper trays on the floor four printers were empty. I was trying to restock them before my shift ended at midnight."

Travis walked slowly into the room. His polished shoes stepped inches away from the metal supply shelf where the safe door hung open by half an inch behind a row of paper boxes.

My heart was beating so hard in my throat I felt as though I might vomit.

"You always were messy when you worked under pressure," Travis remarked, looking around the room with a cold, disgusted smirk. "Look at you, Eliza. Pushing a cleaning cart in the building you used to brag about owning."

I let my shoulders slump, squeezing the glass cleaner bottle until my knuckles turned white. "I have bills to pay, Travis. Owen needs new glasses, and Maisie's tuition payment is due next week."

"And your hotshot divorce attorney can't help you with that?" Travis chuckled, stepping closer to me. "I told you six months ago, Eliza. You don't have the stomach for the real world. You should have accepted my first settlement offer. Now you're working night shifts while I run a forty-million-dollar empire."

I forced a tear to spill over my eyelid, letting it trace a path down my cheek. "Please don't do this, Travis. Not tonight. I'm tired."

"Then clean up this mess and go home," Travis ordered, turning his back on me and walking toward the door. "And make sure the executive suite glass is spotless tomorrow night. The investors from Chicago are coming in at eight."

He stopped at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder with a chilling smile.

"Oh, and Eliza?"

"Yes?"

"Keep your employee badge on you at all times," he said smoothly. "Security monitors every door you open. We like to know exactly where you are when you're in my building."

"I understand," I whispered.

He walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway until the heavy glass doors of his office clicked shut.

The moment he was gone, I dropped to my knees, sliding the open binder back into the steel safe, locking the door, and replacing the boxes of paper.

I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling as I dialed my divorce attorney, Sarah Vance.

The phone rang three times before Sarah answered, her voice groggy with sleep. "Eliza? It's almost midnight. Is everything okay?"

"Sarah," I said, my voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper that contained zero fear. "I need you to call a forensic accountant first thing tomorrow morning. I have the paper trail for eight million dollars in offshore transfers."

Sarah’s tone shifted from sleepy to wide awake in a fraction of a second. "Where did you get offshore transfer files?"

"From my husband's private safe," I said, looking at the grey steel panel beneath the shelf. "And Sarah... he forged my name on all of them. We're not asking for fifty percent of Northgate anymore."