Revenge in Red

Thomas arrived at the estate the following morning with a folder that was three inches thick.

He dropped it on the dining table with the quiet certainty of a man who had spent his night confirming every detail inside it twice. He looked like he hadn't slept. His shirt was slightly rumpled at the collar and there were faint shadows under his eyes, but his expression was composed, focused, and already three steps ahead of the conversation we were about to have.

"Walk me through it," I said, pulling up a chair.

He sat down across from me and opened the folder. "Blake Industries declared forty-three million in net revenue last fiscal year. I cross-referenced their public filings with the property acquisitions they made in the same period and the numbers don't align. There's a gap of roughly eleven million dollars that has no legitimate paper trail."

"Shell companies?" Enid asked from the end of the table, her tea in hand.

"Three of them. Registered in Delaware, no public-facing directors. They were used to absorb payments that never appear in the official accounts." Thomas slid a page across to me. "Davon's signature is on two of the authorization documents. The third uses a power of attorney tied to a name I'm still tracking down."

I studied the page. The signature was unmistakable. I had watched him sign enough documents during our marriage to know the particular arrogance of his handwriting, the way he always pressed too hard with the pen.

"So he's been moving money illegally," I said.

"Consistently and carefully. Whoever set this up knew what they were doing. But they weren't careful enough." Thomas leaned back and crossed his arms. "The mistake is in the timing. The first shell company was opened four months before Blake Industries signed its largest investor agreement. If that investor knew the books were manipulated to inflate the valuation they agreed to, Davon wouldn't just be looking at a scandal. He'd be looking at federal fraud charges."

The room went quiet.

I placed the page back on the table and sat with it for a moment. I had come into this wanting to destroy Davon's reputation, take his company and his freedom, and leave him with nothing he could hold onto. But this was bigger than a ruined reputation. This was a cage built from his own greed and all I had to do was wait for him to walk inside it.

"Does anyone else know?" I asked.

"I've been careful. No external searches, no third-party analysts. Everything I found was in the public filings. It just required someone who knew what to look for." He glanced at me. "The investor agreement is up for renewal in six months. That's the window."

"Six months is enough," Enid said.

"More than enough." I closed the folder. "We don't use this yet. We hold it until everything else is in place. The affair video, the confession, the asset transfer. This becomes the final layer."

Thomas nodded. "Agreed. If you release the financial evidence too early, he lawyers up and goes dark. You want him exposed, distracted, and desperate before this lands."

"Desperate men make mistakes," I said.

"Desperate men also become dangerous," Thomas replied, and he looked at me directly when he said it, not to alarm me but to make sure I heard it properly.

I heard it.

"I know," I told him.

He held my gaze for just a beat longer than necessary before he looked back at the folder. It was the kind of look I had learned to catalogue and set aside. Thomas was careful with those moments, always pulling back just before they became something that needed naming.

I appreciated the restraint. Mostly.

"There's one more thing," he said, pulling a single sheet from the back of the folder and sliding it toward me.

I looked down at it. A photograph, printed from what appeared to be surveillance footage. It showed Davon outside a building I didn't recognize, speaking to a man whose face was partially turned from the camera.

"That building is registered to one of the shell companies," Thomas said. "And that man has been seen entering Blake Industries twice in the last month under the name of a consultant. But there's no consulting agreement on file."

I looked at the photograph for a long time.

"Who is he?"

"I don't know yet." Thomas's jaw tightened slightly. "But I'll find out."

I slid the photograph back to him and stood, moving to the window. The morning light fell across the garden in long, clean lines and I stood in it and breathed.

My phone buzzed on the table.

I walked back and picked it up. An unknown number. A New York area code.

"He found me," I said.

Enid and Thomas both looked up.

I answered it on the third ring. "Adrianna Sloane."

"Adrianna." His voice was warm, unhurried, precisely calibrated for charm. "It's Davon. I hope this isn't too forward."

"It's a little forward," I replied. "But I'll allow it."

His laugh was low and pleased. "I was wondering if you'd give me a second chance to impress you. Dinner again, maybe this weekend?"

I let a pause settle.

"I have a charity event Friday evening. You can escort me."

Another pause from his end, shorter. He hadn't expected to be assigned a role rather than offered one.

"I'd be honored," he said.

"Good. My assistant will send you the details." I ended the call without a farewell.

I set the phone down on the table and looked at Enid and then at Thomas.

"Phase two begins Friday," I said.

Thomas reached for his coffee, expression unreadable. "I'll have eyes on the venue before you arrive."

"I know you will."

I picked up the folder and walked out of the room, already building the next move in my head.