Chapter 4

The air conditioning in the bank's VIP conference room was blasting, but I felt burning cold.

Beads of sweat formed on the loan manager's forehead as he repeatedly checked my driver's license against his computer records.

"Mr. Miller, this... this is impossible," he stammered. "We verified every single signature on this commercial mortgage. It matches your signature perfectly. The paperwork was entirely in order."

I stared at him coldly. "I want to see the physical file."

Faced with my unwavering tone, he had no choice but to pull the physical contract from the archive vault.

When he laid the document on the mahogany table, my eyes locked onto the printed loan amount: Three Million Dollars Exactly.

Any lingering shred of naive hope shattered into dust.

Borrower: Ethan Miller.

Co-Borrower: Chloe Vance.

Collateral: My brand-new house.

The fatal blow was attached to the back of the contract—a notarized Full Power of Attorney, supposedly executed by me, appointing Marcus Cole as my sole representative to handle all mortgages, encumbrances, and loan disbursements regarding the property.

The signature looked identical to mine.

I could instantly picture how they did it: using high-resolution scans of the blank papers I had signed, digitally splicing and forging this seamless legal weapon.

"Mr. Miller, as you can see, the documents..." The manager looked distressed.

I didn't yell. Instead, I pulled out my phone and took high-res photos of every single page.

"I am submitting these for forensic handwriting analysis," I said, my voice dead calm. "Furthermore, I never set foot in this branch to execute this loan. I demand that you pull the security footage from the day this loan was closed."

My composure carried an undeniable authority.

The manager turned ghost-white. "Mr. Miller... bank surveillance is only kept for thirty days. This loan was executed..." He flipped a page, his hands trembling. "Twenty days ago. The footage still exists. I'll... I'll pull it right away."

He stumbled as he stood up. He knew this scandal was way beyond his pay grade.

Leaving the bank, I drove straight to Dan’s law firm.

I dumped the photos, surveillance files, and audio recordings onto his desk.

Dan’s expression turned dead serious as he reviewed them.

"Ethan, these scumbags are far more ruthless than I imagined. Forging official documents, falsifying notarizations—this is full-blown bank fraud and grand larceny. You need to execute three steps immediately:

One: Go freeze every single joint account tied to you and Chloe.

Two: File for immediate divorce and petition the court for an emergency asset freeze.

Three: Take this entire evidentiary file straight to the Police Financial Crimes Division."

Dan’s battle plan was flawless.

I moved without hesitation.

Freezing accounts, filing petitions, submitting criminal complaints—everything clicked into place like clockwork.

By the time I finished my official statement at the police station, darkness had fallen over the city.

I checked my phone. Forty-seven missed calls. All from Chloe.

Along with dozens of hysterical voice notes on SnapChat.

"Ethan, are you insane?! Why the hell are my cards frozen?!"

"Are you looking to die?! Unfreeze my accounts right this second, or I swear to God I'll ruin you!"

I didn't type a single letter back.

She had finally realized her access to the stolen money was cut off.

The fish was thrashing on the hook.

Sure enough, an unknown number popped up on my screen a few minutes later.

I answered. It was Marcus.

His previous smug arrogance was completely gone, replaced by poorly concealed panic.

"Ethan, what the hell are you doing? It's just a little domestic spat between husband and wife—is it really worth freezing bank accounts over? Where are you? Let's sit down and talk like adults."

I let out a soft, cold chuckle.

"Save your talk for the detectives, Marcus."

I hung up before he could respond.

I could easily imagine Marcus and Chloe tearing their hair out on the other end of the line.

Word of a formal criminal investigation travels fast.

Sure enough, the next morning, Detective Ryan called me.

"Ethan, Marcus Cole fled the country last night. We pulled international travel manifests—he boarded a 5:00 AM red-eye flight to Southeast Asia."

I closed my eyes.

Just as I expected.

Parasites like Marcus had the instincts of rats; at the first scent of danger, they abandoned ship.

With Marcus gone, the entire three-million-dollar debt landed squarely on the shoulders of Chloe, the named co-borrower.

That afternoon, the bank’s certified demand letter was delivered to the house.

When Chloe ripped open the envelope and saw the three million dollar principal plus mounting penalty interest demanding immediate payment, her reality imploded.

She finally realized Marcus had used her as the ultimate fall guy.

She blew up my phone like a lunatic. I ignored every single call.

That evening, Chloe tracked down my parents’ address and banged on their front door.

When I arrived, she was kneeling on the welcome mat, mascara running down her tear-stained cheeks, a pathetic, trembling mess.

The moment she spotted me, she scrambled forward on her knees, trying to grab my pants.

I took a step back, letting her hands clutch empty air.

She collapsed onto the floor, looking up at me with puffy, tear-drenched eyes, playing the victim to perfection.

"Ethan, I'm sorry... I was wrong, I was so wrong! Marcus tricked me! He fed me lies and brainwashed me! Please, give me one more chance. Let's start over. I swear I'll be the best wife to you..."

Looking at her dramatic performance, I felt nothing but utter disgust.

I pulled out my phone, tapped the screen, and played an audio clip right in front of her.

It was recorded just days ago by the camera in the living room.

Marcus's and Chloe's voices blasted through the speaker:

"Once that three million clears into the corporate account, we toss this loser out on the street. The house and the cash belong to us."

"Then we fly overseas, buy a private villa on an island, and live like royalty."

The recording ended.

Chloe’s sobbing cut off instantly. Every drop of color drained from her face.

I looked down at her, opened the front door, and spoke in a voice as calm as a graveyard.

"It's too late. The court has accepted the case. See you in the mediation room tomorrow at nine."