Chapter 2
1304 Words
"Mrs. Harrington, your husband is on line one." My assistant's voice crackled through the intercom, interrupting my third cup of coffee.
"Tell him I'm in a meeting." I stared at the business card in my hand, turning it over and over between my fingers. *Samuel Grant, Private Investigator*.
Two weeks had passed since that anniversary night. Two weeks of smiling at James over breakfast while planning behind his back. Two weeks of watching Vanessa's worried texts pile up, all saying things like "Are you okay? You seem distant."
If only they knew.
My office door opened, and James walked in without knocking. He was always so full of himself.
"Hey, what's up, I've been trying to call you all morning." His smile was perfect, the same one that had won me over at my father's funeral. “we have dinner with the Palmer's tonight, remember?"
I tucked the business card into my desk drawer. "Sorry, it's been busy, the Henderson project needs fixes."
A lie. I haven't touched the Henderson project at all or any Quinn holdings work since finding out the truth. Instead, I'd been quietly looking into exactly how much damage James had done to my inheritance.
"Let me take care of that." He leaned over my desk, the fancy cologne I once loved now making me feel sick and irritated, “you've seemed stressed lately. Maybe you should go to a spa with Vanessa?"
The nerve of this man. Suggesting I relax with the woman he was sleeping with while they planned to steal my money.
"Maybe." I forced a smile. "I'll think about it."
He kissed my forehead, I fought the urge to pull away.
"Don't work too late." With a wink, he was gone, leaving me to breathe easily again.
I waited five minutes before picking up Samuel Grant's card and calling.
"Mr. Grant? This is Aria Harrington. I'd like us to meet today if possible."
---
"So let me get this straight, Mrs. Harrington." Samuel Grant's lined face crinkled with focus. "You think your husband is stealing from your companies and planning to divorce you after he's hidden enough money in his name?"
We sat in a small café three towns over, where no one would know Richard Quinn's daughter. I'd dressed down in jeans and a plain shirt, hair hidden under a baseball cap.
"I don't think it. I know it." I slid the folder across the table—copies of everything I'd found in James's drawer, plus account papers I'd managed to get from Dad's old files. "And please, call me Aria."
Samuel looked through the papers, his face not showing any reaction. He was exactly what I needed—ex-military, retired from my father's security team, with no ties to James.
"Your father was a good man," he finally said, closing the folder. "Never thought I'd see his life's work torn apart by crooks."
"Can you help me?"
He tapped his fingers on the table. "It won't be easy. Your husband's smart. And from what you've shown me, he's created quite the paper trail to protect himself."
"I'm not looking for easy, Mr. Grant. I'm looking for justice."
"Call me Sam." He leaned forward. "First thing we need to do is protect whatever money he hasn't touched yet. Then we record everything—every money move, every property change, every lie."
"And then?"
"Then, Aria, we make sure he's sorry he ever thought he could outsmart a Quinn."
For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than sadness. Something that burned hotter than betrayal.
Hope.
---
"You're late," James said when I sat down beside him at the Palmers' dining table. "I told them you got stuck with work."
"Traffic," I lied, squeezing his hand for show. I'd actually been opening new accounts at three different banks—accounts James knew nothing about.
Mrs. Palmer smiled kindly. "James tells us you've been working too hard, dear. When are you two going to start thinking about a family?"
The irony hurt in my throat. "Actually, we've been trying for quite some time."
"Without much luck," James added, patting my hand. "But we stay hopeful."
I bit my tongue to keep from saying I knew about the birth control pills he hid as vitamins. Sam had told me to act normal until we had everything ready.
"Well, keep trying!" Mr. Palmer winked, raising his wine glass. "Nothing like kids to make a family complete."
Throughout dinner, I played my part perfectly—the loving wife, laughing at James's jokes, touching his arm at the right times. Inside, I was noting every bit of info he casually dropped about our businesses.
"Aria's letting me handle the Westsitrge deal," he told the Palmer's, as if I'd had a choice. "She's more into the charity work her father started."
Translation: He was moving money through the Westrige deal. I made a mental note to have Sam check it out first thing tomorrow.
Later that night, as James slept beside me, I snuck out of bed and into my home office. The secret phone Sam had given me lit up with a text: *Found something big. Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM.*
I deleted the message and crawled back into bed, careful not to wake the snake beside me.
---
"He's made fake companies," Sam explained the next day, spreading papers across his office desk. "Three that I've found so far, all in the Cayman Islands. He's been moving Quinnmoney through them for at least eighteen months."
My heart sank. "Since right after we got married."
"There's more." Sam pulled out another folder. "Your friend Vanessa? She's on the paperwork for all three companies. Co-owner with James."
Even though I'd heard them that night, seeing the proof made it real in a way that took my breath away.
"How much?" I managed to ask.
"At least thirty million. Maybe more."
I stood up, walking around the small office. "That's my father's life work he's stealing. Everything Dad built from nothing."
"The good news," Sam continued, "is that we can prove it. The money moves, the fake papers, the timing—it all shows clear theft."
"So what now?"
"Now we get everything ready for your lawyer." Sam paused. "But Aria, you should know—fighting this means showing everything. The news will love the story 'QuinnHeiress Betrayed.' Are you ready for that?"
Was I? The thought of my private shame all over business pages made me sick. Then I remembered my father's face when he'd showed me the Quinnbuilding on my sixteenth birthday. *"All of this will be yours someday, Aria. I built it for you."*
"I don't care about the news," I said firmly. "I care about justice."
Back at home, I found James in his study, phone to his ear. He didn't see me in the doorway.
"Everything's going as planned," he said quietly. "She doesn't suspect a thing... Yes, I can speed up the timeline if needed... I know, I'm tired of playing husband too."
He laughed at something the person—Vanessa, almost certainly—said.
"Soon," he promised. "We'll have everything we need within the month."
A month. That's how long they planned to wait before ruining me.
I backed away quietly, mind racing. Sam had said we needed six weeks to record everything and prepare the legal case.
Time was running out.
As I went to my room, my phone buzzed with a text from Vanessa: *Lunch tomorrow? Miss you! xo*
I stared at the message from the woman who had been my best friend since we were kids, who had held me as I cried over not being able to have a baby, who was now working with my husband to take everything from me.
*Perfect*, I texted back. *Can't wait to catch up.*
- Writer
