The Billionaire Husband Who Faked Bankruptcy

I fished a USB drive out of the shoe cabinet drawer and tossed it onto the coffee table.

He looked at it and went still.

"The combination on the safe in your study is our wedding anniversary."

I said, "Some habits of yours, you haven't changed in ten years."

His lips were trembling.

So were his hands.

He reached for the drive. I pinned it down.

"You touch it, and I call the financial crimes unit right now."

I held his eyes. "Bet on whether I'd dare."

His fingers curled back.

The lawyer cleared his throat beside us. "Mrs. Lambert, I haven't seen what's on this drive."

"You don't need to."

I turned to him. "Sign now, and I only want sixty percent of your shares. Don't sign, and I'll make sure you can't even hold on to the other forty."

He shut his eyes.

When he opened them again the rims were red, and his voice came out soft, almost pleading. "That money, it really was for the company. Once the project goes through, all of it comes back."

"Whether the project goes through has nothing to do with me."

I pushed the pen across to him. "All I know is, the money you've brought home these past six months is less than what I made running food deliveries."

He laughed again, an ugly laugh this time. "You? Running deliveries? You quit your day job?"

"You didn't know?"

"I—"

"There's a lot you don't know."

I cut him off. "You don't know my ears ring so bad I can't sleep till the middle of the night. You don't know my hands shake too much to hold a soup bowl. The only thing you know is what your Jo Malone smells like."

He lowered his head.

His shoulders caved in, like someone had pulled the bones out of him.

"Sign it," I said.

He picked up the pen. The tip hovered over the paper and stayed there a long time.

The lawyer coughed.

He looked up suddenly. "Can I—can I make a call to her?"

"Who?"

"That Mr. Chavez's—I need to know she's safe."

I looked at him and said nothing for a while.

Then I took the pen out of his hand and signed his name for him.

"I'll save you the phone bill."

I slid the agreement over to the lawyer. "Your Ms. Chavez left town an hour ago. Her father just got called in by the regulatory investigators."

The last bit of color drained from his face.

The lawyer gathered up his folder and headed for the door. Passing him, he paused. "Mr. Lambert, I'd advise you to find a lawyer of your own, quickly."

The door closed.

He stood in the middle of the living room like a clay statue.

After a long while he spoke. "When did you find out?"

"The first time you slipped into the study at midnight to take a call."

"Then why did you still—"

"Still scrape money together for you?"

I gave a small laugh. "I wanted to see how long you could keep up the act."

He crouched down and clutched his head with both hands.

His shoulders jerked up and down.

I went back to the bedroom to pack.

I'd zipped the suitcase halfway when I heard him cry out somewhere outside, muffled, like he had his face buried in the couch cushions.

I pulled the door open.

He raised his head, his face streaked with tears. "What's actually on that drive?"

"Last month's fake reports from your company."

"Where did you get them?"

"Your assistant gave them to me."

He froze.

I wheeled the suitcase past him. "You think you're the only smart person in the world?"

At the door I stopped for a step.

"Was it fun, playing me for a fool?"

I didn't look back.

When the door shut behind me, I heard something shatter inside.

Maybe a glass. Maybe something else.

I'd dragged the suitcase to the elevator when Rodney Lambert came running out barefoot.

"Your assistant, when did she—"

He grabbed the elevator door, his knuckles white. "How long has she been working with you?"