Chapter 4

Using a classmate’s birthday party as an excuse, I ditched my driver and met my dad in a dim, retro diner on the edge of town.

In just two weeks, he seemed to have aged ten years. His hair was graying at the temples, and his shoulders slumped.

But when he saw me, a spark finally returned to his dull eyes.

"Chloe, you..."

"Dad, don't talk. Just look at this."

I pulled out my phone and brought up the photos of the financial statements I had taken, sliding the screen in front of him.

My dad blinked in surprise. Then, he put on his reading glasses and began scrolling through the slides.

His brow furrowed deeper with every page. The defeated look in his eyes vanished, replaced by the sharp, calculating gaze of a professional auditor.

"This isn't right," he said, tapping a line on the expense sheet.

"This vendor, 'Serene Culture Media.' They're getting a thirty-million-dollar prepayment for 'brand consulting'."

"Your mom likes to show off, but I built her company’s internal controls myself years ago. Any vendor prepayment exceeding five million requires at least three rounds of board approval."

"I've never even heard of this media company. How does a brand-new firm secure a thirty-million-dollar advance? It’s impossible."

My heart did a quick flutter.

This was the thread I needed to pull.

"Dad, stay calm and take care of yourself," I said, sliding a thick envelope into his hand.

"This is the allowance money Mom gave me. Use it. Don't skimp on yourself. Your health comes first. This war has only just begun."

With teary eyes, my dad clutched the envelope and nodded heavily.

Once home, I used my mom's black Amex card to hire the most reputable private intelligence firm in the city.

My instruction: Investigate "Serene Culture Media LLC."

Two days later, the results hit my encrypted ProtonMail inbox.

The registered owner of the company was a woman named Sylvia Vance.

Attached was a photo of a weary-looking, middle-aged woman.

Sylvia was Julian's ex-wife.

The file showed that Julian had used this exact same playbook before. Under the guise of a "wellness investment," he had drained Sylvia's parents' life savings, driving both elderly folks into a depression that eventually killed them.

Sylvia had sued him, but due to a lack of concrete evidence, Julian had walked away scot-free.

Reading the email, my blood ran cold.

This wasn't his first time.

The wellness subsidiary wasn't a business at all. It was a financial trap designed to hollow out my mom's company and leave her holding the bag.

My mom thought she had found her soulmate.

In reality, she was just another lamb lined up for slaughter on Julian’s assembly line.

And I was currently the one helping him sharpen the knife.

My phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat message from Julian.

*“Chloe, you up? I'm taking you to meet a major investor tomorrow. Get some rest.”*

A major investor?

More like another hyena invited to help pick my mom’s company clean.

I slowly typed back:

*“Sounds great, Julian. Can't wait.”*

***