Oops, Looks Like You're the One Dying, Sweetheart

I pushed the winter coats aside. The hidden wall panel slid back smoothly, exposing the steel door of the safe.

I pressed the first digit of my birthday.

*Bzzzt.*

A harsh, low-pitched error tone spat from the speaker. Not the high chirp I was used to.

I stopped. My finger hovered over the keypad. I punched in the four digits again, pressing harder this time.

*Bzzzt.*

A red light flashed above the numbers.

"Looking for something, Adeline?"

I spun around. Martha stood in the doorway of the walk-in closet, holding a stack of folded towels.

"The safe code," I said, keeping my tone entirely flat. "It's changed."

"Oh, Julian mentioned that." She stepped into the closet and placed the towels on a high shelf. "He upgraded the security software yesterday. Said the old system was outdated."

"Outdated."

"Yes, sweetheart." She smoothed the top towel, her back to me. "You know how crime is getting in this neighborhood. Do you need something out of it?"

"My passport."

"I'll have Julian get it for you tonight." She patted my shoulder as she walked past me. "Why don't you go rest? You look terrible."

I stepped out of her reach. "I have errands."

I left her standing in the closet, grabbed my car keys from the dresser, and walked out of the house.

***

The glass doors of First National Bank slid open. I walked straight to the mahogany counter at the far end of the lobby.

"How can I help you today, Mrs. Montgomery?" The teller, a woman with a silver name tag that read *Helen*, offered a practiced smile.

"I need a printed statement for my personal checking account," I said. "The one ending in 8814."

Helen typed into her keyboard. "Certainly. Give me just a moment."

The printer whirred behind her. She slid a single sheet of paper across the cold marble counter.

I stared at the bold number at the bottom of the page.

*$412.50.*

My stomach bottomed out.

"This is wrong," I said, sliding the paper back toward her. "There was over forty thousand dollars in this account last week. It's my personal account."

Helen frowned, leaning closer to her monitor. "Let me check the transaction history." Her fingers tapped rapidly. "Ah. A wire transfer cleared yesterday afternoon. Thirty-nine thousand, five hundred dollars."

"Authorized by who?"

"Julian Montgomery." Helen pointed to the screen. "He's listed as a joint signer on all your accounts, Mrs. Montgomery. The funds were moved to a new portfolio."

"A portfolio."

"Yes, ma'am. Under Montgomery Holdings." She tilted her head, her smile faltering slightly. "Is there an issue?"

"He emptied my personal checking."

"He also closed the secondary savings account this morning," Helen added, her voice dropping into a professional hush. "The one ending in 3301. He withdrew the remaining eighty thousand via cashier's check."

My jaw locked tight. "Who was the check made out to?"

Helen squinted at the monitor. "Rostova Consulting LLC. He said you two were finalizing a commercial real estate deal today. Congratulations, by the way. The Arts District is booming."

I grabbed the edge of the counter. My fingernails scraped against the stone.

"Thank you, Helen."

"Do you need anything else?"

"No."

I walked away from the teller station and sank into a leather chair in the waiting area.

Forty thousand from my checking. Eighty thousand from my savings. Plus the jewelry.

Julian hadn't just secured his assets. He had financially paralyzed me. I had thirty days to pay for cancer treatment, and my husband had just handed my survival money to his mistress.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. My thumb stopped on a name I hadn't called in three years. *Marcus Thorne.* Julian's former business partner. The man Julian ousted to take full control of Montgomery Holdings.

I tapped the green icon.

"Adeline Montgomery." Marcus's deep voice came through the speaker after two rings. "This is a surprise."

"Hello, Marcus." I watched a security guard pace near the entrance. "Do you have time for a meeting?"

"Julian isn't looking to buy me out again, is he?"

"Julian doesn't know I'm calling you."

Silence stretched over the line.

"I'm listening," Marcus finally said.

"I have inside details on the Arts District commercial project." I kept my voice low, shielding my mouth with my hand. "I need liquid capital. Two hundred thousand dollars. In exchange, I will hand you the exact financial vulnerabilities of Julian's new joint venture with Rostova Consulting."

"You're selling out your own husband?"

"I'm securing my future." I gripped the phone tighter. "Do we have a deal?"

"Bring the proof to my office tomorrow at ten. We'll talk."

"I'll be there."

I ended the call. The heavy weight in my chest shifted, replaced by a sharp, cold focus. I had a target. I had a plan. I just needed to raid Julian's home office tonight and copy the rest of those ledgers.

I stood up from the leather chair and headed for the exit.

The heavy glass doors slid open.

A woman stepped through the frame just as I walked out. We collided, shoulders knocking hard.

"Oh, excuse me," she said, stepping back.

"My fault," I murmured, glancing up.

She had straight dark hair and wore a tailored gray suit. Not Elena in the red coat. Someone else entirely.

She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

The afternoon sun caught the metal on her wrist.

I froze.

A heavy gold bangle wrapped around her forearm. It featured a unique, twisted clasp shaped like a lotus flower.

My mother's bangle. The one missing from my safe.

The woman offered a polite, dismissive nod and walked past me into the bank lobby.

I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Hey," I called out.

She didn't turn.

She walked straight to the teller counter. Helen smiled and waved her over.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Rostova," Helen said loudly. "Your sister said you'd be coming by to sign the deposit forms."

Elena's sister.

Julian hadn't just fenced my jewelry. He had gifted my family heirlooms to his mistress's relatives.