Chapter 2 - The Audit and the EvictionVanessa’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she forced it back onto her face, looking up at Grant for reassurance. "Don't listen to her, Grant. She’s just bluffing. She’s a field agent, not a billionaire. You told me her salary is government-standard."
"My salary is," I agreed, tapping a few commands onto the hardened screen of my secure device. "My family inheritance, however, is not. Neither are the liquidation rights to the offshore corporate shell Grant used to siphon funds from my trust account last month."
Grant stumbled backward, his heel catching on the edge of the ruined Persian rug. "Evelyn... wait. Let's not be hasty. We can talk about this like adults. There's no need to bring lawyers into—"
"Too late," I interrupted.
As if on cue, the heavy oak front door rattled violently. Before Grant could reach for the handle, two men in tailored charcoal suits—federal marshals assigned to my task force's legal wing—pushed past the threshold, flashing their badges with cold efficiency.
"Agent Vance," the lead marshal nodded briskly. "We’ve secured the freeze order on all joint marital assets, personal accounts, and commercial holdings associated with Grant Carlisle. The corporate audit has officially commenced."
Vanessa shrieked, dropping her champagne flute. It shattered against the marble floor, the golden liquid splashing across her precious stiletto heels. "Grant! What is happening? Who are these people? Get them out of our house!"
"Our house?" I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "Vanessa, honey, look around. You’re standing in a living room where you don't even own the sofa you're sitting on. In fact, under federal asset seizure guidelines regarding co-mingled illicit funds, every single luxury item you’re wearing right now—from that wool robe down to your remaining designer shoe—is technically evidence."
"Evidence of what?!" Vanessa screamed, her carefully curated composure completely shattering as she realized the golden goose had just turned into a vulture.
"Fraud, embezzlement, and harboring a fugitive asset," Marshal Thorne replied smoothly, stepping forward with a clipboard. "Mr. Carlisle, you have twenty minutes to pack a single bag of personal effects and vacate the premises. Miss Vale, you have zero minutes. You are not a resident here. Step outside."
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Grant lunged toward me, his hands outstretched in a desperate plea. "Evelyn, please! You can't do this to me! Think of our history! Think of Lily!"
"I am thinking of Lily," I said, my voice dropping an octave, turning into the cold steel of an interrogator. "Which is why, the second you touched my daughter's hand by proxy, you signed your own financial and social death warrant. Get out of my sight before I forget I'm off the clock."
