The Real Boss Was His Neglected Wife

Dr. Hailey Hogan POV:

My private island was more than just a getaway; it was a fortress of solitude.

White sand.

Crystalline blue water.

And absolutely no reception unless I wanted it.

I spent the first two days sleeping.

Real sleep.

Not the light, anxious dozing of a woman waiting for a hitman or a drunk husband to stumble through the door.

On the third day, Jessica called via the encrypted satellite line.

"It's a bloodbath," she said, her voice dripping with professional delight.

"Tell me," I said, calmly applying sunscreen to my legs.

"Cornelia is calling the firm every hour. She's threatening to sue you for 'elder abuse' because we cut the payment on her armored SUV. The repo men took it yesterday right in front of the country club."

"Good."

"Amber is claiming you stole her 'heirlooms.' Specifically, a string of pearls."

"I have the receipt for those pearls," I said, closing my eyes against the sun. "Cartier, Fifth Avenue. Purchase date: last Christmas. Buyer: Dr. Hailey Hogan."

"I already sent the invoice to the police," Jessica said. "They dropped her complaint immediately."

"And Jackson?"

Jessica paused, savoring the moment.

"He tried to access the offshore trust this morning. The one you set up for the 'future children.'"

"And?"

"Access denied. Biometric lock. He nearly broke his hand punching the wall next to the keypad."

"He's desperate," I said.

"He's broke, Hailey. The gym-his 'front'-is three months behind on rent. You were paying that too, weren't you?"

"I was paying for the air conditioning," I admitted. "And the steroids."

"Well, the landlord locked the doors today. His soldiers are out on the street. They're looking for a new Capo because Jackson can't fill their weekly envelopes."

"He's losing his men," I murmured.

"He's lost his status. Without your money, he's just a guy in a cheap suit with a bad temper."

"What about the Estate?"

"That's the best part," Jessica said. "Since the deed is in the shell company's name-which you own 100% of-they are technically squatting. I sent the eviction notice an hour ago. They have 72 hours to vacate."

"Where will they go?"

"I hear the Motel 6 by the highway has vacancies."

I looked out at the ocean.

I should have felt guilty.

I should have felt bad for dismantling a legacy that had stood for fifty years.

But all I felt was the warm sun on my skin.

"Hailey," Jessica said, her voice dropping to a serious register. "Jackson is saying he's coming to find you. He says you owe him."

"He can try," I said.

"He claims he has leverage. Something about the Commission."

"Let him talk to the Commission," I said, standing up and brushing the sand from my thighs. "I'm the one who paid their tribute. They know who the real boss is."

"Be careful."

"I'm not afraid of him, Jessica. I'm the one holding the scalpel now."

I hung up.

I walked down to the water's edge.

The tide was coming in, scrubbing away the footprints in the sand.

I was scrubbing the slate clean.

But I knew Jackson.

He wouldn't go quietly.

He was a rat cornered in a trap of his own making.

And rats bite.

I touched the scar on my ribs-a jagged souvenir from the last time I hesitated.

Never again.

If he came for me, he wouldn't find the wife who cooked his meals and laundered his money.

He would find The Stitcher.

And I was done stitching wounds.

I was ready to make them.