A faint, approving smirk touched the corner of Victor’s sharp lips. "Smart. I have always preferred smart women. You were the Senior Forensic Auditor for Vanguard Financial before Richard forced you to step down and work exclusively in the back office of his boutique firm, correct?"
Corin frowned, setting her glass on the mahogany side table. "How could you possibly know my professional history?"
"Because I make it my personal business to know every single individual in this city capable of manipulating a corporate balance sheet," Victor said, leaning back into the hand-stitched leather cushions. "Your husband didn't just drain your personal joint account tonight, Corin. Three days ago, he forged your professional digital signature on a series of complex offshore shell company transfers. He moved six million dollars out of an escrow account belonging directly to one of my primary logistics subsidiaries."
Corin felt every drop of air leave her lungs. "He... he stole six million dollars from you?"
"He stole from me, yes, but he used your CPA license verification code to authorize the wire," Victor explained, his voice turning dangerously cold. "He left a clean, deliberate paper trail that points straight to your personal laptop and home IP address. When the federal regulators inevitably launch their audit next month, Richard plans to be sitting cleanly in the Blake family's penthouse, completely immune, while you face twenty years in a federal penitentiary as his fall guy."
The sheer, monstrous scale of the betrayal struck Corin like a physical blow. She had given Richard seven years of her youth. She had endured agonizing hormone injections, wept silently in clinical waiting rooms, sacrificed her own brilliant career trajectory to clean up his corporate messes—and he had systematically set her up to take the prison sentence for his own criminal greed.
The lingering sadness inside her, the self-doubt that had tormented her for years, burned away in an instant. In its place rose something incredibly sharp, ice-cold, and blindingly clear.
Anger. Pure, unadulterated, lethal anger.
Victor watched the transformation in her eyes with quiet fascination. He saw the helpless tears evaporate, replaced by a dark, unyielding steel.
"What do you want from me, Mr. Moretti?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave into a calm, steady rhythm.
"I want my six million dollars returned," Victor replied without missing a beat. "And I want Richard Harris completely, irrevocably, and publicly destroyed. But to accomplish that cleanly without drawing federal eyes to my legitimate business operations, I require someone who knows his financial network from the inside out. Someone with the technical brilliance to dismantle his shell companies piece by piece."
He leaned forward, his ice-blue eyes locking onto hers with magnetic intensity.
"Work for me, Corin. Step into my organization as my lead forensic auditor. I will provide you with absolute physical protection, unlimited financial resources, and a private suite overlooking the sound. In return, you will help me strip Richard Harris of every dollar, every asset, and every shred of dignity he possesses."
Corin looked out the rain-streaked window at the distant, glittering skyline of Seattle. She thought of the apartment she could no longer access, the emptied bank accounts, the arrogant laughter of her husband inside the warmth of L’Auberge.
She turned back to Victor Moretti and looked him dead in the eye.
"When do we start?" she asked.
For the next four weeks, Corin Harris ceased to exist for the rest of the world.
She took up full residence on the top floor of the Moretti Tower, a sleek glass-and-steel monolith dominating downtown Seattle. Under Victor’s absolute protection, she was given control of a state-of-the-art financial intelligence suite—four dedicated high-speed server racks, encrypted access to offshore banking nodes, and a team of four sharp junior analysts who carried out her every command without question.
Victor did not treat her like a victim seeking refuge. He treated her as a high-value executive and an equal. Every single morning at seven o'clock sharp, he would walk into her glass-walled office holding two cups of black coffee, sit across from her main terminal, and listen with rapt attention as she systematically mapped out the web of Richard’s illegal activities.
"He's remarkably arrogant, which makes him incredibly sloppy," Corin said late one Tuesday evening, sliding a high-resolution flow chart across the dark oak desk to Victor. It was near midnight, and the city lights hummed far below them like a field of fallen stars. "Richard believes he’s a financial mastermind because he utilized a double-layered Cayman Islands trust to move your six million. But he was so lazy that he used the public Wi-Fi network at his private country club lounge to authorize the secondary wires. He left digital fingerprints on every single ledger entry."