Chapter 2 - THE OFFICE MANIFESTOThe glass doors of Dalton & Associates looked blindingly sterile under the mid-morning sun. My receptionist, Chloe, looked up from her desk as I strode through the lobby, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and unreadable caution.
"Mr. Dalton... your hand—"
"Did a courier drop something off for me?" I demanded, cutting her off.
She swallowed hard and nodded, reaching beneath the mahogany counter to retrieve a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with a red wax stamp. A stark contrast to the digital age, yet violently personal.
"Yes, sir. Ten minutes ago."
I snatched the envelope from her trembling fingers and locked myself in my private corner-office on the top floor. The panoramic view of the city skyline, which usually filled me with a sense of corporate dominance, now felt like a cage.
I ripped open the flap.
Inside was not a legal document, but a handwritten letter on thick parchment paper, accompanied by a heavy metal flash drive.
Richard,
If you are reading this, it means Detective Holloway did his job, and you finally realize that the walls you built were made of glass. For six months, I watched you sneak out of our bed. I watched you wipe your phone logs in the bathroom. I even smelled Vanessa’s cheap floral perfume—Tom Ford Orchid Soleil, if we're being precise—lingering on the collar of your wool coat when you thought you were being stealthy.
You always underestimated me, Richard. You thought my gentleness was weakness. You thought my silence was ignorance. But while you were playing the high-rolling executive with your mistress in Seattle, I was quietly dismantling your empire brick by brick.
Check the flash drive. Every shell company, every undeclared bonus, every tax evasion scheme you thought you buried in the Cayman Islands? It’s all there. And copies of it are currently sitting on the desk of the Federal Prosecutor's Office, scheduled to be automatically unsealed if anything happens to me or Ethan.
Don't look for us. You won't find us. Consider this your only warning: stay away, or I will burn your entire life to ash.
— Sarah
The paper fluttered from my paralyzed fingers, landing softly on the plush carpet.
Vanessa. The penthouse suites. The offshore accounts holding over two million dollars in embezzled firm capital. All of it—documented, verified, and weaponized by the woman I had spent years treating like an invisible accessory.
My phone buzzed again. It was a text from an unknown number.
Just a single image.
It was a photo of Ethan, sleeping peacefully in a sleek, modern crib. In the background, out of focus, was the unmistakable iconic silhouette of the Space Needle.
May you like
Seattle.
They weren't hiding across the country. They were right under my nose, in the very city where I had betrayed them.
