Chapter 8 - The Ghost AccountsThe next seventy-two hours were a grueling descent into hell. Marcus’s sabotage was a masterclass in psychological and financial warfare. The massive drilling rigs next door ran twenty-four hours a day, the deafening roar of the machinery serving as a constant, mocking reminder of Julian’s dying vineyards.
At Vanguard, the situation was even worse. The fabricated wire transfers were incredibly sophisticated. Whoever Marcus had hired to frame me had spoofed my IP address, making it look exactly as though I had initiated the fraudulent transfers from my own laptop. My lucrative contract—the base salary and the revenue percentages I had fought so hard for—was entirely suspended. Worse, Vanguard’s board of directors was threatening to hand the evidence over to the FBI by Friday if I couldn't prove my innocence.
I was sitting at the kitchen island of Julian’s estate, surrounded by stacks of printed bank statements, running entirely on black coffee and sheer willpower.
"He’s using Kensington money to fund the cyber-attack," Julian said, pacing the length of the kitchen while on the phone with a private forensic accountant. "There is no way Marcus orchestrated this wire fraud himself. He’s too stupid. He hired a dark-web syndicate to breach the Vanguard servers."
"But how do we prove it?" I asked, my voice cracking with exhaustion. "The IP address traces back to my office. The shell company has my forged signature on the incorporation documents. He built a perfect digital trap."
Julian ended the call and walked over, placing his large, warm hands on my shoulders. "Nothing is perfect, Sandra. If he is spending Kensington money to hire hackers, there has to be a paper trail. Arthur Kensington is notoriously paranoid about his finances. He audits his own subsidiaries constantly. If Marcus is bleeding millions out of his father-in-law’s accounts to fund a personal vendetta against an ex-fiancé, Arthur would kill him."
A brilliant, dangerous spark of hope ignited in my chest.
"Marcus is arrogant," I realized, staring at the bank statements. "He wanted to destroy us so badly, he didn't care whose money he was spending. If we can prove to Arthur Kensington that Marcus is embezzling from him to attack us, Arthur will do our dirty work for us."
"Exactly," Julian smiled grimly. "But we need access to the Kensington internal ledgers. And the only place Marcus would keep the unencrypted, raw data of his embezzlement is on his personal devices."
"Tomorrow night," I said, my heart beginning to pound with a lethal, calculating rhythm. "Vanguard is hosting their annual charity gala at the St. Regis in San Francisco. It’s the biggest social event of the year. Despite the investigation, Richard demanded I attend to keep up appearances and avoid a PR scandal. Marcus and Victoria are on the VIP guest list."
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"He’s coming to gloat," Julian said, his eyes narrowing. "He’s going to show up to watch you crack under the pressure in front of the city's elite."
"Let him come," I said, standing up from the kitchen island, feeling the exhaustion completely evaporate, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp fury. "I used a microphone to destroy him last time. This time, I’m going to use his own greed. We are going to the gala, Julian. And we are going to burn him to the ground."
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