Chapter 9 - My CFO's Second Phone
Owen Price had access to every part of my life that Beatriz did not.
Corporate travel.
Executive calendars.
Vendor approvals.
My private plane schedule.
He knew when I would be away.
He knew when I would be tired.
He knew which transactions I skimmed and which ones I studied.
So I gave him bait.
On Monday morning, I called from the office.
"I need you to move four hundred thousand from the family-office reserve into the Easton education fund."
Owen did not hesitate.
"Today?"
"Before lunch."
"No problem."
There was no Easton education fund.
The account number I sent belonged to an internal fraud-monitoring account my independent auditors controlled.
If Owen used my credentials, we would see how.
At 11:07, he did.
My authentication token appeared.
My digital signature.
My approval pattern.
All without me touching a device.
The cyber team traced the authorization to a second phone hidden in Owen's desk.
We did not seize it.
Not yet.
Instead, we cloned its traffic under a court-approved preservation order arranged through counsel.
By afternoon, R.M. had a name.
Rebecca Marsh.
Senior vice president of Mercer Global's risk division.
I had promoted her six years earlier.
She had also introduced me to Beatriz.
I remembered the dinner.
Rebecca had smiled and said, "You two would either hate each other or get married."
We got married.
Apparently both options had been useful to her.
Her messages with Owen told the rest.
Mercer Global was preparing for a major acquisition.
If my personal life imploded publicly, the board could invoke a temporary leadership clause.
Rebecca, as head of risk, would become interim CEO with Owen controlling the numbers.
Beatriz's court petition was not just about settlement money.
It was timed to a board vote.
Destroy me at home.
Destabilize me at work.
Move money while I fought for my daughter.
Then sell the company division Rebecca had been trying to carve off for years.
Leah read the messages twice.
"This is bigger than your marriage."
"No."
She looked at me.
"What?"
"My marriage is part of it. My daughter is the center."
Because that was the mistake I had already made once.
Work felt bigger because adults put numbers on it.
But Isabella was the part that mattered.
We brought in federal financial investigators quietly.
They wanted time.
I wanted Beatriz gone.
Again, patience became the price of protecting Isabella.
That evening I came home "from Chicago."
Beatriz met me at the door wearing the green dress I once told her I loved.
"I missed you."
I kissed her cheek.
"Missed you too."
The lie tasted awful.
At dinner, she smiled at Maya.
"How long are you staying?"
Maya smiled back.
"Until Grant gets sick of me."
Beatriz glanced at Isabella.
"He does get tired of people."
My daughter stopped chewing.
I put down my fork.
"Actually, I'm trying to improve that."
Beatriz looked at me.
For one second, suspicion flickered.
Then she smiled.
Later that night, I checked the mirrored home network.
Beatriz had opened the surveillance dashboard three times during dinner.
Then she sent Owen one message.
Something's wrong with Grant.
Owen replied thirty seconds later.
Move the filing up.
Beatriz answered.
May you like
Tomorrow morning.
