Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Driveway
My breath hitched in my throat as I stared at the glowing screen of my phone. The image was crystal clear. It was taken from the tree line at the edge of my property, looking directly at my white SUV parked in the driveway.
The accompanying text sent a chill straight down my spine: “You think you won, Dany? Look out your window.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I clutched the black hard drive Lorraine had given me tightly against my chest. Slowly, deliberately, I turned off the living room lights, plunging the house back into darkness. I crept toward the heavy drapes of the front window, peeling back a fraction of an inch of fabric.
The street was quiet. The Amber-colored streetlights cast long, distorted shadows across the asphalt. There were no strange cars parked on the curb. No figures lurking under the oaks.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed again in my hand, the vibration making me jump.
“Not that window, Dany. The backyard.”
My stomach dropped. I turned around, looking through the dark house toward the French doors that led to our manicured patio and pool area. The backyard was heavily wooded, backing into a nature preserve. It provided ultimate privacy—or, in this case, ultimate cover.
I slipped my phone into my pocket, gripped the hard drive like a weapon, and crept into the kitchen. Peering through the glass of the back door, I saw a lone figure sitting casually on one of our outdoor lounge chairs. The glowing ember of a cigarette illuminated a sharp jawline and a leather jacket.
It wasn't Andre. And it certainly wasn't Brianna.
I unlocked the back door, the security system emitting a sharp chime that announced my presence. The figure didn't startle. He simply stood up, threw the cigarette onto the pavers, and crushed it with the heel of a heavy boot.
As he stepped into the light filtering from the kitchen, I gasped.
“Marcus?”
Marcus Vance was Andre’s business partner, the co-founder of Vance & Reeves Consulting. He was a brilliant, reclusive forensic accountant who usually handled the firm’s backend while Andre acted as the charismatic face of the company. Marcus and I had always shared a quiet, respectful relationship, but he was the last person I expected to see lurking in my bushes at midnight.
“Hello, Dany,” Marcus said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. “I figured you’d be coming back here after the performance you pulled at the Magnolia House.”
“How did you know about that?” I asked, keeping the door half-closed, my body shielding the hard drive.
“Because the DJ you hired? He’s my cousin’s kid,” Marcus said with a grim smirk. “The kid texted me twenty minutes ago saying the most legendary divorce in Charlotte history just kicked off. He said you shut down the whole venue with a single phone call.”
“If you’re here to protect the firm’s assets, Marcus, you’re too late,” I said coldly.
“Protect the firm? Dany, look at me,” Marcus said, stepping closer to the doorway. The porch light caught the exhaustion etched into his face. “Andre hasn’t just been lying to you. He’s been screwing me over for two years. He’s been cooking the books, skimming off our top-tier tech clients, and shifting the liabilities onto my side of the ledger.”
He looked down at the black plastic rectangle clutched in my hands. His eyes widened slightly.
“Is that… is that the backup drive from his office safe?”
“Lorraine gave it to me,” I admitted, my voice trembling slightly. “She said it contains everything.”
Marcus let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “His own mother. God, he really managed to alienate every single person who actually cared about him.” He looked back up at me, his expression turning intensely serious. “Dany, if Andre realizes you have that drive, he won’t just be angry. He’ll be desperate. That drive doesn't just contain evidence of fraud. It contains the routing numbers for a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands—an account currently holding four million dollars of our clients' money.”
Four million dollars.
My head spun. I thought I was divorcing a cheating husband. It turned out I was dismantling a criminal enterprise.
“What do we do?” I asked, the weight of the situation finally crashing down on me.
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“We don’t wait for Monday,” Marcus said, reaching into his leather jacket and pulling out a laptop. “We break the encryption right now, transfer the funds back to the corporate escrow before he can touch them, and file an emergency injunction with the state board. By sunrise, Andre Reeves will be completely locked out of his life.”
HOOK TO THE NEXT CHAPTER: We sat at my kitchen island, the laptop glowing in the dark as Marcus cracked the drive's encryption. But just as the progress bar hit 99%, the front door lock clicked. Andre’s voice echoed through the foyer, thick with alcohol and rage: “Dany! I know you’re in here! You’re going to give me what’s mine, or I swear to God I’ll burn this place to the ground!”
