Chapter 2 - The Anatomy of a Setup
The master suite on the second floor was a sanctuary of soft morning light, muted grays, and sprawling views of the frozen coastline. Yet, as Abigail sat propped up against a mountain of goose-down pillows, the room felt charged with the static electricity of an impending war.
Rowan stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his phone pressed to his ear as he conferred with Marcus Vance, the senior partner at Vance & Sterling Legal Counsel and the primary legal architect of the Armand trust.
“I don't care about her severance package, Marcus,” Rowan said, his voice hard as iron. “I want every asset she controls frozen under a civil forfeiture injunction by noon. Use the emergency guardianship clause if you have to—she committed financial fraud against a vulnerable beneficiary under medical duress.”
He listened for a moment, his eyes reflecting the gray sea outside, then clicked end and dropped the device onto the mahogany dresser.
He walked over to the bed, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders as he sat down beside her. He reached out, his warm palm gently brushing against her swollen wrist where Celeste’s harsh grip had left an angry, purplish bruise.
“Does it hurt?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing the edge of the discoloration.
“It’s nothing,” Abigail whispered, though she leaned into his touch. The phantom ache of the early contractions still pulsed low in her abdomen, but the emotional weight had lifted tenfold. “Rowan... how did she manage to pull off the diversion? If the audit gets to the board tonight, even with the real records, how do we prove she forged my signature on the wire transfers?”
Rowan gave a grim, humorless smile. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, sleek thumb drive—the master backup he had pulled from his secure office safe in the city before driving straight home through the storm.
“Because Celeste is arrogant,” Rowan said, taking her hand in his. “She assumed that because I was out of the country managing the Singapore merger, I wouldn't review the granular server logs of the trust portal. Every wire transfer generated from the portal requires a dual-key authorization code sent via SMS to the primary account holder’s registered mobile device.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “My phone. But... my phone was locked in the safe upstairs most of the time she had me confined to the guest wing.”
“Exactly,” Rowan nodded. “She thought she was clever by spoofing your device ID using a local micro-cell tower box—a Stingray device she must have purchased through an intermediary on the black market. But she made one fatal error.”
“What error?”
“She routed the confirmation pings through an IP address physically registered to her pied-à-terre on Beacon Street,” Rowan said, his eyes flashing with vindictive satisfaction. “My IT security team flagged the anomaly three weeks ago. We just didn't know who was operating the terminal until today. The system logs don't just show that your phone was bypassed; they show her private device authorizing every single fraudulent withdrawal while sitting in the adjacent room.”
Abigail exhaled a shaky breath, letting her head sink back against the pillows. “She really thought she was going to push me out. Before you walked through that door, she told me that by the time you returned from Singapore, I would either be locked away in a psychiatric clinic for postpartum instability or divorced with a settlement so small I’d have to beg for grocery money.”
Rowan’s hand tightened around hers, his knuckles turning white. “She will never touch this house again. She will never look at our son—or you—ever again.”
A soft knock interrupted them. The door pushed open just an inch, and Lena peered inside, holding a silver tray with a warm cup of herbal tea and a plate of toast.
“Excuse me, Mr. Armand, Mrs. Armand,” Lena said, keeping her voice low. “Security just buzzed through the delivery truck from the jeweler in Boston. The one Mrs. Celeste ordered last week.”
Rowan frowned. “What did she order?”
Lena stepped fully into the room, looking visibly uncomfortable. “Three diamond-encrusted trustee badges, sir. Engraved with the names of the three senior board members whose votes she needed to pass the emergency restructuring motion tonight. They were supposed to be ‘tokens of appreciation’ handed out right before the vote.”
Abigail stared at the driver, a cold realization washing over her. “Bribes. She was literally buying the board’s approval with trust funds.”
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Rowan stood up slowly, a dark, dangerous look settling over his handsome face.
“Lena,” Rowan said quietly. “Take that delivery straight down to Marcus Vance’s courier when he arrives at the front gate in ten minutes. Let’s add mail fraud and bribery to her expanding resume.”
