my loyalty.
“Freeze every account connected to Mercer Strategic Holdings,” I told Martin.
“Send preservation notices to the bank, the security company, and Greg’s accountant.”
“Already drafting them.”
Elena entered before I could say more.
She held her phone against her chest.
“There’s a man downstairs asking for you,” she said.
“Victor Lang.
He says Greg’s girlfriend called him from the beach house.”
I knew the name.
Victor Lang owned a regional logistics empire and had invested two million dollars in Greg’s latest venture, a vague property-technology platform that seemed to consist mainly of glossy presentations and expensive dinners.
He was also Chloe’s father.
“Send him up.”
Victor entered less than two minutes later with two investigators wearing dark suits and government identification clipped inside their jackets.
He did not sit.
“Is my daughter safe?” he asked.
“She is with a sheriff’s deputy at my parents’ house,” I replied.
“Physically, she appears unharmed.”
His shoulders loosened slightly.
Then I turned the tablet toward him.
On-screen, Chloe stood on the porch beside her luggage while Greg argued with Samuel and the deputy.
Her face had lost all color.
Victor watched in silence.
“Greg told her he was separated,” he said at last.
“He said you had abandoned him, taken company money, and left him the beach property as part of a private settlement.”
“None of that is true.”
“I know that now.”
One of the investigators introduced herself as Special Agent Nora Bell.
She explained that Victor’s company had reported irregularities connected to Greg’s investment solicitations.
Funds intended for software development had moved through several consulting entities and then disappeared into luxury vehicle leases, travel expenses, and property-related payments.
My stolen operating funds might be part of the same pattern.
“We were preparing to contact you,” Agent Bell said.
“Mr.
Lang’s call accelerated that conversation.”
On the tablet, Greg suddenly looked toward the camera mounted under the porch roof.
“Diana,” he said into the phone, forcing a laugh, “this has gone far enough.
Tell these people to leave.
We can discuss the paperwork privately.”
It was the first time his voice had softened.
Not because he was sorry.
Because he was afraid.
“You threw my parents onto the lawn,” I said.
“You threw my father’s medication after them.”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“You kissed another woman in my mother’s doorway.”
Chloe turned sharply toward him.
“She saw that?”
Greg covered the phone with his hand, but the foyer camera still captured his response.
“The cameras weren’t supposed to be active.”
Samuel heard him.
So did the deputy.
So did everyone in my office.
Martin wrote the sentence down.
“Greg,” I said, “why did you believe the cameras would be inactive?”
He realized too late that he had answered a question no one had asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You just did.”
The security company’s digital logs later showed that someone using Greg’s email address had attempted to disable the system at 7:14 that morning.
The request failed because the account required biometric confirmation from my registered device.
He had planned the eviction carefully.
He simply had not planned it well.
The deputy asked Greg to step outside.
Greg refused.
“I have personal property in this house.”
Samuel looked around the foyer.
“Identify it.”
Greg pointed toward the luggage.
Chloe’s expression hardened.
