Chapter 4 - The Puppet Master
Returning to the house with a newborn was a tactical error I couldn't avoid; I needed time to secure the documents I’d hidden in the garage. My mother tolerated me, mostly because she wanted to see me play the role of the submissive, exhausted mother to make her own daughter, Clara, look better by comparison.
But the dynamic had shifted. I was silent, observant. I watched Marcus closely. He was cocky, confident that his schemes were safe. He didn't realize that the "glitches" he had been experiencing in his accounts were not accidents.
I had begun leaking tidbits of his data to an anonymous contact in the SEC—a trail of breadcrumbs leading directly to the shell companies.
At breakfast one morning, I watched as Marcus received a notification on his phone. His face went pale, then red.
"Is everything alright, darling?" Clara asked, her voice syrupy.
"Just a glitch," Marcus muttered, his hands trembling as he poured coffee.
I looked up from my tea, my gaze calm and unbothered. "Maybe you should look into your accounts, Marcus," I said, my tone as light as a breeze. "Arthur used to say that nothing stays hidden forever. He always said the rot starts at the roots."
Marcus froze, his eyes locking onto mine. For a second, the mask slipped, and I saw the flicker of fear. He knew. He didn't know how, or how much, but he knew I was the one who had stopped being his victim.
"What do you know about that, Elena?" he growled.
May you like
I just smiled, a soft, motherly expression that held no warmth at all. "I’m just a widow in the garage, Marcus. What could I possibly know?"
I picked up Leo and walked out, leaving the silence of the breakfast table heavy with the scent of his impending doom. The game had begun, and I held all the pieces.
