Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Machine
The next morning, the sun broke through the gray smog of the city, casting a harsh, unforgiving light across the glass monolith of Aurelia Systems. I sat in the executive corner office—Julian’s old office—spinning slowly in the ergonomic leather chair that used to belong to him. The view from the sixtieth floor was breathtaking, a sprawling panorama of a city I now essentially owned.
On my desk sat Julian’s personal laptop, which security had retrieved from his private locker. It was locked with a complex biometric and alphanumeric password, but with Arthur Vance’s team of forensic IT experts working through the night, the encryption had been cracked by dawn.
My phone buzzed on the mahogany surface. It was a text message from an unknown number.
*“You think you’ve won, Nora. You’re playing a game you don't understand. Give me back my company or I will release everything.”*
I stared at the screen, a cold, humorless smile touching my lips. Julian. He must have borrowed a burner phone from some low-end convenience store. He still thought he could intimidate me with vague threats and empty bluffs.
I tapped out a reply: *“Release what, Julian? Your search history? Your tax evasion records? Or the offshore accounts you opened under your mother’s maiden name? Be my guest. Save the FBI the trouble of subpoenaing you.”*
Within seconds, the phone rang. I answered it immediately, pressing the speakerphone button so Arthur Vance, who was standing quietly by the floor-to-ceiling windows, could listen in.
"Nora! You psychotic bitch!" Julian’s voice screamed through the receiver, cracking with raw, unfiltered hysteria. "You ruined my life! Do you have any idea who I owe money to? They aren't corporate board members; they’re killers! They’ll skin me alive if I don't pay them by the end of the week!"
"Then I suggest you start running, Julian," I said calmly, taking a sip of my black coffee. "Because as the new CEO of Aurelia Systems, I’ve already handed over your financial discrepancies to federal investigators. You don't have a week. You have about two hours before the marshals catch up to you."
"You can't do this! We’re married!" he shrieked, the desperation in his voice pathetic to hear.
"Not for much longer," I replied. "My divorce lawyers are filing the papers as we speak. Ground: abandonment, financial ruin, and gross misconduct. Don't call this number again, Julian. The next voice you hear will be a judge telling you how many years you’ll be spending in a federal penitentiary."
I hung up the phone and tossed it onto the desk as if it were a dirty rag.
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Arthur turned away from the window, his expression grim. "That was reckless, Madam Chairwoman. Desperate men do unpredictable things."
"Let him try, Arthur," I said, standing up and smoothing my skirt. "I’ve spent five years building a cage for him. Now that he’s inside, I want to watch him rattle the bars."
