"You are nothing without my family’s name, Victoria!" my cheating husband shrieked right before his own father violently slapped the arrogance off his face. I stood there, cold and unbothered in my white suit, watching him bleed, knowing the feds were already waiting downstairs to arrest him for the secret ten-million-dollar fraud I just exposed.

The elegant, minimalist office of Langston Construction on Madison Avenue was usually a sanctuary of quiet, corporate power. But on Friday afternoon, the glass walls of the executive suite were practically vibrating with the sound of shouting.

Through the hidden audio feed that Gabriel’s team had planted in Eric’s desk phone, we listened to the chaos unfold.

"What do you mean the transaction was declined?!" Eric’s voice screamed through the speaker, his usual polished tone replaced by a high-pitched, panicked screech. "The payroll is sixty million dollars! If those union workers don't get paid by five o'clock, they walk off the Hudson Yards site! Do you have any idea what a single day of work stoppage costs us?!"

"Mr. Langston, I am telling you, the Liechtenstein bank has locked the account," his chief financial officer stammered, his voice trembling. "They are citing a 'disputed ownership claim' filed by the trustee of the Moore Estate."

"The Moore Estate?!" Eric roared. "Elena’s father is dead! There is no Moore Estate!"

"Actually, Eric, there is."

I spoke the words directly into my own phone, which Gabriel’s team had seamlessly routed into his private office line, interrupting his call.

The silence on the other end of the line was instantaneous, thick with a sudden, suffocating panic.

"Elena?" Eric gasped, his breath catching in his throat. "Where the hell are you? My lawyers have been looking for you for two weeks! You need to sign the divorce papers immediately, you crazy bitch!"

"I don't think I will, Eric," I said, my voice smooth, calm, and completely in control. "In fact, I’m quite enjoying my stay in the country. The air is so much cleaner here than in that dirty, corrupt penthouse of yours."

"You froze my accounts," Eric hissed, his teeth grinding so loudly I could hear it through the receiver. "How did you get those passwords? Who is helping you? Is it Vance? I saw him carry you out of the gala. Are you sleeping with him now, Elena? Is that how you’re paying for his protection?"

"Who I spend my time with is no longer your concern, Eric," I replied. "But your financial ruin certainly is. You have exactly two hours before your construction crews walk off the job. I wonder what your father, Arthur, is going to say when he finds out you lost the entire five-hundred-million-dollar offshore reserve because you were too busy helping Vanessa tear my dress."

"I’ll kill you, Elena!" Eric screamed, completely losing his mind. "I will find you, and I will make sure you and that brat never see a single dime of my money!"

"You can try, Eric," I said quietly. "But I suggest you look out your window first."

Through the security feeds, we watched as Eric ran to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his Madison Avenue office.

Down on the street below, three black government SUVs had just pulled up to the curb. A dozen federal agents in windbreakers with the letters FBI emblazoned across the back were marching through the lobby doors, carrying empty storage crates and search warrants.

"What is that?" Eric whispered, his voice cracking with a terrifying realization. "What did you do, Elena?"

"I didn't do anything, Eric," I said, a cold, satisfying smile spreading across my face as I prepared to hang up. "The Southern District of New York did. Have a nice afternoon."

I ended the call, leaning back against the plush pillows of my bed. Gabriel walked into the room, holding two glasses of sparkling apple cider. He looked at me with a pride so intense it warmed me to my very bones.

"The FBI has officially begun executing the search warrants at their corporate headquarters and their personal residences," Gabriel said, handing me a glass. "Eric’s father is currently being detained at JFK airport as he tried to board a private flight to London."

"And Vanessa?" I asked.

"She’s currently locked in her apartment on the Upper East Side, frantically trying to delete files from her laptop," Gabriel smiled, sitting beside me. "But Marcus’s team has already mirrored her hard drive. She’s deleting empty space."