Chapter 3 - The Ghost Account
The hotel room suddenly felt as cold as an icebox.
"I did not authorize any corporate transfers, Marcus," I insisted desperately.
"The board does not believe you, Savannah," he replied, his voice filled with genuine pity.
"They are giving you twenty-four hours to return the funds before they officially involve the FBI."
The line went dead, leaving me sitting in absolute, terrifying silence.
I stared at my laptop, trying to figure out how Christopher could have possibly bypassed my corporate security.
I plugged in my encrypted backup hard drive and ran a deep diagnostic scan on my network history.
It took forty minutes for the hidden malware to finally reveal itself.
Christopher had secretly installed a keystroke logger on my computer months ago.
He had recorded every single password, security question, and authorization code I used for my job.
He didn't just steal forty thousand dollars from our personal emergency fund.
He had used that personal money to set up an untraceable offshore shell company.
Then, he used my stolen corporate credentials to wire three million dollars into that phantom account.
I realized with absolute horror that Christopher was framing me for massive corporate embezzlement.
He intended to let me rot in federal prison while he and his mother lived like royalty on the stolen millions.
I grabbed my car keys, knowing I had to find a lawyer immediately.
As I opened the door to my hotel room, a tall man in a dark suit was standing right in the hallway.
He forcefully shoved me backward into the room and locked the heavy door behind him.
"Scream and I will end you right here," the stranger threatened, revealing a suppressed pistol in his jacket.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs as I backed away slowly.
"Christopher sent you, didn't he?" I asked, refusing to break eye contact.
The man chuckled darkly and shook his head.
"Christopher is an idiot who owes my employers a lot of money," the man replied.
"I am here because your husband used your name to borrow two million dollars from the Russian syndicate."
May you like
He pulled a thick folder from his coat and tossed it onto the bed.
"And unfortunately for you, the syndicate always collects from the person whose signature is on the contract."
