Chapter 2 - The Secret Secretary's True Face
"THE PRETTY SECRETARY THOUGHT SHE WAS GETTING A MILLIONAIRE—UNTIL THE PROCESS SERVER DELIVERED A TRUTH SHE COULDN’T ERASE.""What do you mean, frozen?"
Amber Sterling’s voice did not sound like the sweet, breathless purr Richard was used to hearing over cocktails. It was sharp, nasal, and laced with a sudden, ugly panic.
They were sitting in Amber’s one-bedroom apartment—the one Richard had helped secure with a "temporary loan" for the security deposit. The apartment was littered with shopping bags from high-end boutiques, the very items Maggie’s lawyer had mentioned.
"It’s temporary," Richard insisted, pacing the small living room. He looked disheveled, his navy shirt wrinkled, his hair no longer perfectly in place. "Maggie is just trying to scare me. She’s sixty-two, Amber! She’s never handled a single financial document in her life. She’s probably sitting in some cheap motel room crying right now, realizing she can’t even afford formula for that kid."
"I don't care about her age, Richard!" Amber snapped, standing up from her plush velvet sofa. "I care about the fact that my rent is due in five days, and you promised me we were going to Aspen next weekend! I already bought the ski gear!"
Richard looked at her, a faint flicker of realization sparking in his chest. Amber was wearing a silk robe he had bought her, her blonde hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. But looking at her now, without the dim lighting of the hotel lounge, he noticed how hard her eyes were. There was no warmth in them. No sympathy.
"Amber, sweetheart," Richard said, stepping toward her and reaching for her hands. "I need you to be strong for me right now. I’ve given you everything. Once the lawyers realize Maggie has no legal grounds to freeze my personal earnings, this will all blow over. I just need to stay here for a couple of days."
Amber stepped back, avoiding his touch. "Stay here? In my apartment?"
"Well, yes. Maggie changed the locks on the house, and the bank cards are locked. I just need a place to crash until my attorney can file a counter-petition."
Before Amber could answer, the apartment buzzer rang.
Amber frowned, walking over to the intercom. "Who is it?"
"Delivery for Amber Sterling," a muffled voice replied. "Requires a signature."
Amber sighed, smoothing her robe. "Probably the designer boots I ordered yesterday." She unlocked the door and opened it.
Standing in the hallway was not a delivery driver in a brown uniform, but a middle-aged woman in a plain gray suit carrying a thick manila envelope.
"Amber Sterling?" the woman asked.
"Yes?"
The woman thrust the envelope into Amber's hands. "You’ve been served. Subpoena to testify in the matter of Vance v. Vance, as well as a deposition request regarding the receipt of stolen assets from the Louise Fontaine Trust."
Amber’s face went completely white. She looked at the envelope as if it were a venomous snake. "What? No. I don't know anything about a trust! Richard bought those things for me!"
"Have a nice day," the process server said, turning on her heel and walking down the hall.
Amber slammed the door shut and turned on Richard like a feral cat. "Stolen assets?! Stolen?! You told me that money was from your retirement bonus!"
"It... it's a misunderstanding," Richard stammered, his face turning a deep, guilty red. "Aunt Louise’s trust had a clause that allowed the executor—which was Maggie—to allocate funds. I just... I signed a few documents on Maggie’s behalf."
"You forged her signature?!" Amber shrieked. "You idiot! You absolute, brainless idiot! You told me you were a millionaire! You told me you were going to divorce her and buy us a house in the hills!"
"I am! I will!" Richard pleaded. "But Maggie must have been tracking the accounts. I don't know how she found out. She’s a housewife! She doesn't even know how to use Excel!"
"Well, she knew enough to hire a private investigator, Richard," Amber hissed, tearing open the envelope. She scanned the documents, her eyes darting frantically across the pages. "Oh my god... they have bank statements. They have photos of us. They have photos of the Cartier bracelet you bought me for Christmas. They’re calling me a co-conspirator!"
She dropped the papers, glaring at Richard with pure hatred.
"Get out," she said, her voice deadly quiet.
"Amber, please—"
"I said, get out!" she screamed, pointing a manicured finger at the door. "I am twenty-four years old! I am not going to jail for some old man who can't even keep his wife under control! Pack your things and leave. We are done."
"Amber, you can't do this to me!" Richard cried, desperation finally clawing at his throat. "I ruined my marriage for you! I took Caleb in because I thought we could build a family after Maggie—"
"I don't care about your wife, and I sure as hell don't care about that orphan baby!" Amber yelled, grabbing his leather jacket and throwing it at his face. "Get out before I call the police!"
Richard stood in the hallway of the apartment building, the heavy door slamming shut in his face. The sound echoed down the corridor, a brutal, mocking reminder of the silence he had woken up to this morning.
He was fifty-eight years old, locked out of his home, locked out of his bank accounts, and abandoned by the woman he had destroyed his life for.
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And in his mind, a terrifying question began to form:
Where did Maggie get the evidence?
