The Discarded Wife: His Biggest Mistake

CHAPTER 7: Playing Defense

Jennifer arrived at five AM with a forensic accountant and a thermos of coffee that probably cost more than Emma's first car.

"This is David Park," Jennifer said, gesturing to the tired-looking man beside her. "Best forensic accountant in New York. He's going to find every irregularity in Sterling Tech's books."

David set up his laptop at the conference table, already pulling up spreadsheets. Emma had seen that look before—the focused intensity of someone about to dive into numbers like they were a murder mystery. Which, in a way, they were.

"How long will this take?" Emma asked, pouring herself coffee. Black. Strong. She was going to need it.

"To do it thoroughly? Three weeks minimum." David didn't look up from his screen. "To do it fast and somewhat thoroughly? Maybe a week."

"We have two days," James said from the doorway.

David finally looked up. "Then I'll find what I can find."

Jennifer spread out Marcus's legal complaint across the table. "The accusations are specific. That's actually good for us—it means we know exactly what to look for. But it also means Marcus has some kind of documentation, real or fabricated."

"He was CFO for five years," James said, moving to stand beside Emma. Not too close. Respectful distance. "He had access to everything. If he wanted to make it look like I moved money around, he could."

"The question is why now," Emma said, studying the documents. "Why wait until we're fighting back to drop this bomb?"

"Because he needed you to invest first," Jennifer said. "Think about it. If he'd accused James of fraud while the company was failing, it would've just accelerated the collapse. But now that Phoenix Ventures is involved, now that there's actual money at stake—"

"Now the board has to take it seriously," Emma finished. "Because I'm on the hook for fifty million dollars."

The room went quiet.

James's voice was tight when he spoke. "I'll understand if you want to pull out. This isn't what you signed up for."

Emma looked at him. Really looked at him. The James from two years ago would've been defensive, angry at being accused. This James looked tired and worried, but not for himself.

For her. For her investment. For the mess she'd walked into.

"I'm not pulling out," Emma said. "But we need evidence. Real evidence. Not just David crunching numbers—we need smoking gun proof that Marcus fabricated this."

James's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Marcus's assistant. Rachel. She's been with him for three years." He looked at Emma. "She used to give me these looks. Like she wanted to say something but couldn't."

"You think she knows something?"

"I think she sees everything. And Marcus isn't exactly subtle when he thinks no one important is watching."

Emma pulled out her phone. "What's her last name?"

"Kimura. Rachel Kimura."

Within ten minutes, Emma had Rachel's personal cell number. One of the benefits of having connections across Manhattan's corporate landscape—you could find anyone.

She dialed. It rang four times. Emma was about to hang up when a cautious voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Rachel Kimura? This is Emma Hartley from Phoenix Ventures. I need to talk to you. In person. Today."

A long pause. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'm not recording this. I'm not trying to trap you. I just need twenty minutes of your time." Emma kept her voice gentle. "Coffee shop of your choice. Public place. You can leave whenever you want."

"Why should I meet with you?"

"Because Marcus Reid is destroying people, and I think you're tired of watching it happen."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"There's a Starbucks on 42nd," Rachel said finally. "One hour."

Rachel Kimura was younger than Emma expected. Late twenties, maybe. Professional but not overly polished—she wore a nice blazer but her nails were bitten down, and she kept glancing at the door like someone might burst through any second.

Emma slid into the seat across from her, keeping her body language open and nonthreatening. "Thank you for meeting me."

"I haven't decided if I'm helping you yet," Rachel said. But her hands were wrapped tight around her coffee cup. Defensive. Scared.

"Fair enough." Emma didn't push. Just waited.

Rachel lasted about thirty seconds. "He's going to destroy Mr. Sterling, isn't he?"

"He's trying to."

"And you want me to stop him."

"I want the truth." Emma leaned forward slightly. "Whatever that is. If James actually did commit fraud, I need to know. If Marcus fabricated evidence, I need to know that too. I just need the truth."

Rachel's jaw tightened. "I've worked for Marcus for three years. Do you know how many assistants he's had in that time?"

"How many?"

"Seven. I'm number seven. The others all quit within six months." She took a shaky breath. "He's meticulous. Everything documented, everything controlled. But he thinks assistants are furniture. We're just there to schedule meetings and get coffee. He forgets we see things."

"What did you see?"

Rachel reached into her bag and pulled out a USB drive. Set it on the table between them like it was a live grenade.

"Emails," she said quietly. "Between Marcus and his nephew at Titan Capital. The company trying to take over Sterling Tech. They've been coordinating this for eighteen months. The product launch failure? Marcus sabotaged it. The investor pullout? He convinced them the company was unstable. The financial irregularities in the lawsuit?" She pushed the drive toward Emma. "He created them. I have the original documents and the altered ones. Time stamps. Everything."

Emma stared at the drive. This was it. The smoking gun.

"Why?" Emma asked. "Why keep all this? Why help us?"

Rachel's eyes were bright. Angry tears, not sad ones. "Because he's a bully. Because he treats people like they're disposable. Because I've watched him destroy good people for two years, and I'm tired of being complicit just because I need the paycheck." She stood abruptly. "That's everything I have. Do whatever you want with it. I already emailed my resignation this morning."

"Rachel, wait." Emma stood too. "He'll come after you. Legally. Professionally."

"Probably." Rachel's smile was bitter. "But I'll be able to sleep at night."

She left before Emma could say anything else.

Emma sat back down, staring at the USB drive. This tiny piece of plastic could save James's company. Could destroy Marcus.

Could change everything.

She picked it up, dropped it in her purse, and headed back to Sterling Tech.

By eleven PM, Emma's eyes were crossing from staring at spreadsheets.

The conference room looked like a paper bomb had gone off. Documents everywhere. Three laptops running. Jennifer had left an hour ago to draft legal responses. David the forensic accountant was still there, muttering to himself about "irregular disbursements."

Emma's stomach growled. Loud enough that James looked up from across the table.

"When did you last eat?" he asked.

"Breakfast. Maybe." She rubbed her eyes. "Coffee counts as food, right?"

"No." James was already pulling out his phone. "Chinese?"

Emma's traitorous stomach growled again. "I should probably get something healthier—"

"Szechuan beef, extra spicy. Brown rice. Spring rolls." James was typing into his phone. "Am I right?"

Emma froze. That was her order. Her exact order from their marriage. From late nights studying in business school. From Sunday dinners when they were too tired to cook.

He remembered.

"Yeah," she said, voice coming out softer than she intended. "That's right."

Something flickered across James's face. Not triumphant. Just... sad. Like remembering was painful for him too.

"Still your favorite?" he asked.

"Still my favorite."

The food arrived forty minutes later. They cleared a space on the table, pushed aside financial records to make room for takeout containers. The smell alone made Emma's mouth water.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Emma had forgotten how hungry she was. How good this particular restaurant's Szechuan beef was.

"Fortune cookie?" James held out two wrapped cookies.

"Sure." Emma took one, cracked it open. Pulled out the little slip of paper.

The past will revisit you.

She laughed. Actually laughed. "Well, that's ominous."

James grinned—a real grin, the kind she hadn't seen in years. "What are the odds?"

"Pretty good, apparently." Emma held up the fortune. "Think this is the universe's way of telling us something?"

"That we should've ordered Thai instead?"

And Emma laughed again. God, when was the last time she'd laughed like this? Light. Easy. Like breathing.

She caught herself mid-laugh. Cleared her throat. Went back to her food.

But James was looking at her with this expression she couldn't quite read. Fond. Wistful.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. You just—" He gestured vaguely with his chopsticks. "You still do that thing. When you're concentrating. You tuck your hair behind your ear, then two minutes later it falls out and you tuck it again."

Emma's hand had frozen halfway to her ear. She hadn't even realized she'd been doing it.

"Old habit," she said.

"I always liked it."

The words hung there. Too intimate. Too close to something neither of them was ready to acknowledge.

Emma looked away first. "We should get back to work."

"Right. Yeah." James cleared his throat. "The Patterson account—"

"Third quarter, line item 47," Emma said, already pulling up the spreadsheet. "David flagged it earlier."

And just like that, they were back in safe territory. Numbers. Strategy. Business.

But Emma was hyperaware of James across the table. The way he frowned when he was thinking. The way he absently tapped his pen against his palm. The way he'd roll his shoulders every twenty minutes like they were stiff.

She knew him. Still knew him. Two years hadn't erased that.

It should've made her feel vulnerable. Instead, it made her feel... something else. Something she wasn't ready to name.

Her phone rang around midnight. Unknown number. Emma almost ignored it, but something made her answer.

"Ms. Hartley?" An older man's voice. Cautious. "This is Richard Holloway. From the Sterling Tech board."

Emma's spine straightened. Richard—one of the two undecided board members. "Mr. Holloway. Thank you for calling."

"I'll be direct. I saw Marcus Reid's lawsuit. If there's any truth to these allegations—"

"There isn't."

"You sound very certain."

"I am certain. Because we have evidence that Marcus fabricated the entire thing." Emma kept her voice calm. Professional. Even though her heart was racing. "We'll be presenting it to the board tomorrow."

"I'd like to see this evidence."

"And you will. But I'd also like to have lunch with you tomorrow. Just you and me. One hour." Emma glanced at James, who was watching her with concern. "Let me show you why Phoenix Ventures believes in Sterling Tech's future."

A long pause. "Noon. Le Bernardin."

"I'll be there."

The call ended. Emma set down her phone.

"He's wavering," James said. It wasn't a question.

"Marcus got to him. The lawsuit scared him." Emma stood, started pacing. "I need to—"

"I can call him," James offered. "Explain—"

"No." Emma's voice was firm. "I'll handle it."

"Emma, it's my company—"

"And it's my investment. Let me do this." She softened slightly. "Trust me. I'm good at this."

James looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded. "Okay."

That easy. No fight. No ego. Just trust.

The old James would've insisted on being involved. Would've made it about his pride.

This James stepped back. Let her lead.

Emma grabbed her coat. It was late. She should go home. Get a few hours of sleep before tomorrow's lunch.

At the door, she paused. Turned back. "Thank you. For believing me about Marcus."

No. Wait. That came out wrong.

"I mean—thank you for trusting me to handle Richard."

James stood, hands in his pockets. Tired but sincere. "Thank you for believing me about the fraud."