Chapter 3 - The Memorandum of Betrayal“You set us up!” Ethan roared, his desperation finally boiling over into fury. He took a violent step toward me, but the sheer, unyielding ice in my glare stopped him dead in his tracks. For the first time in his life, he realized he wasn't looking at a victim. He was looking at an apex predator.
“I set a trap, Ethan,” I corrected smoothly. “You are the one who eagerly chewed your own leg off to get the cheese. You forged my signature on a Power of Attorney document. Do you have any idea what the federal penalty is for wire fraud and forging executive signatures to embezzle multi-million-dollar real estate funds?”
Ethan’s breathing became ragged. “Maddie, please. We can fix this. Just… reverse the script. Give me the administrative rights back. If the Scottsdale deal falls through, the sellers are going to liquidate the 5% monthly revenue-sharing model I leveraged against my own consulting firm. I’ll be completely bankrupt!”
“You are already bankrupt,” I stated, pulling up a new document on the television screen. It was a digital copy of the exact Memorandum of Understanding he and Diane had signed with the Arizona sellers.
“You see, Ethan, when you tried to use my company’s capital to fund your little desert escape, you used my corporate letterhead. Which means my legal team was automatically notified of the pending transaction by our banking compliance software. My lawyers have spent the last seventy-two hours compiling a comprehensive dossier of every single fraudulent email, fake IP address, and illegal bank transfer you made while I was in the maternity ward pushing your child into the world.”
Diane collapsed onto the expensive Italian leather sofa, burying her face in her hands. “My house,” she sobbed hysterically. “Ethan, you told me my house in the Hamptons was protected! You promised me we were insulated!”
I turned my attention to Diane, feeling a dark, immense satisfaction settle into my bones. Diane had spent three years making passive-aggressive comments about my weight, my career, and my supposed "lack of traditional domestic skills." Now, she was weeping on my furniture.
“Ah, yes. The Hamptons property,” I said softly. I swiped my tablet again. A complex financial ledger appeared on the screen. “You were so eager to fund the down payment for the Scottsdale house that you took out a massive consumer loan—a high-interest overdraft facility. And you used the Hamptons deed as collateral.”
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Diane looked up, her mascara running in thick, ugly black streaks down her cheeks. “How do you know that?”
“Because, Diane,” I smiled, leaning forward. “I am the one who bought the debt from the holding company. I own your consumer loan. And since Ethan’s fraudulent escrow transfer just bounced, your loan is officially in default.”
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