Chapter 2
Darcy’s penthouse office on the forty-fifth floor of the Chicago skyline looked less like a legal firm and more like an intelligence war room. Massive triple-monitor setups displayed real-time financial tracking, corporate registry documents, and encrypted video feeds.
When I stepped out of the private elevator, Darcy was already standing there holding a steaming cup of dark roast coffee. She didn't say a word of greeting. She grabbed me by the shoulders, looked deep into my eyes, and let out a fierce, approving grin.
“The freeze orders on all joint marital accounts hit the federal clearinghouses twenty minutes ago,” Darcy announced, her voice humming with predatory satisfaction. “Julian tried to pull a $15,000 cash advance for his mother’s birthday party catering backup plan three minutes ago, and his card was instantly declined with a fraud flag. He’s currently screaming at a bank teller over the phone. I have the audio recording piped into speaker-three.”
I walked over to the wrap-around glass window, looking down at the crawling ants of traffic on Michigan Avenue, feeling a cold, intoxicating wave of liberation wash over every nerve in my body.
“How long until the property title transfer injunction is filed?” I asked calmly, taking a sip of the bitter coffee.
“It’s already filed with the county recorder’s office,” Darcy replied, tapping furiously on her mechanical keyboard. “That luxury condo you bought and paid for entirely out of your pre-marital inheritance and your personal tech-consulting salary? The deed is officially locked under a lis pendens notice. Neither Julian nor Fiona can sell it, mortgage it, or step foot in it legally once the eviction and restraining orders are executed at twelve-noon today.”
I turned around slowly, setting the coffee mug down on a minimalist slate desk.
“And the sixty dishes?” Darcy asked, raising an eyebrow with amused curiosity. “Fiona’s elite social circle of hypocritical snobs is gathering at that condo in less than four hours. What are you planning to serve them? A lawsuit wrapped in tin foil?”
“Oh, no,” I smiled, my eyes gleaming with dark, calculated brilliance. “We are going to give them a feast of absolute humiliation. Every single course is going to cost them their entire social standing, their stolen wealth, and their freedom.”
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I pulled out my phone, opened a scheduling app, and hit send on a mass notification sent to thirty-four high-end corporate investigative journalists, three local television news stations, and the internal compliance department of the international investment bank where Julian worked as a mid-level manager who embezzled client entertainment funds.
“Darcy,” I said quietly, walking toward the private elevator. “Let’s go throw a birthday party.”
