The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress

The wind on the roof was brutal. It whipped Isabella's thin gown against her legs, but she didn't shiver.

She kicked open the maintenance door.

A black helicopter, unmarked and sleek, hovered just inches above the helipad. The rotors sliced through the night air with a deafening roar.

The side door slid open.

Luke O'Malley jumped out. He was a mountain of a man, dressed in tactical black gear. He ran toward her, his face a mixture of disbelief and relief.

He dropped to one knee in front of her. "Boss."

Isabella reached down and grabbed his tactical vest, pulling him up. "Stand up, Luke. We don't have time for reunions."

"I thought I lost you," he said, his voice thick.

"Almost," she said. "Let's go."

They sprinted to the chopper. Isabella leaped inside, buckling herself into the leather seat. Luke jumped in beside her and signaled the pilot.

The helicopter surged upward, banking sharply away from the hospital. The lights of Boston spread out below them like a grid of gold and diamonds.

Luke handed her a heavy-duty, ruggedized laptop. "It's connected. Aegis protocol is active."

Isabella opened the laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. It was like breathing.

"Coffee," she said, not looking up.

Luke handed her a thermos. Black, no sugar. Just the way she used to drink it.

"I'm scrubbing the hospital records," she said. "Isabella Oconnor was never admitted. The security footage is looping."

She hit Enter. A progress bar flashed green and reached 100%.

"Now for the house," she murmured.

She accessed the smart home system of the Beacon Hill mansion. The system she had installed secretly two years ago under the guise of a 'software update.'

Command: Delete User "Isabella".

Command: Erase Voice Logs.

Command: Reset Master Bedroom Lock. Randomize Code.

"You're locking him out?" Luke asked, watching the code cascade down the screen.

"No," Isabella said. Her eyes reflected the blue light of the screen. "I'm erasing myself. When he comes home, there will be no trace that I ever lived there."

Across the city, in the waiting room of another hospital, Hamilton's phone buzzed.

System Alert: User Deleted. Smart Home Resetting.

He frowned, swiping the notification away. "Stupid glitch," he muttered, turning back to the doctor who was explaining that Cuba needed 'rest and emotional support.'

Back in the helicopter, Isabella opened a new window. It was a trading terminal.

"Mckee Capital is acquiring that tech startup, OmniCorp, tomorrow," she said. "I read the due diligence report on his desk last week. It's flawed. The IP is stolen."

"He doesn't know?" Luke asked.

"He didn't look," Isabella said. "He was too busy buying jewelry for Cuba."

She typed in a series of commands.

Entity: Aegis Ventures.

Action: Short Sell.

Target: Mckee Capital.

Volume: Maximum Leverage.

"Execute," she whispered. She hit the key. "Now," she said, opening a secure messaging app. "Luke, send the OmniCorp IP theft file to our contact at the Wall Street Journal. Anonymous tip. Let's give the market a reason to panic."

"That's going to bleed him dry by morning," Luke said, a grin spreading across his face.

Isabella closed the laptop. She leaned back, closing her eyes for a second.

"Good."

She opened her eyes and looked at the bag Luke had brought. She pulled out a trench coat-Burberry, tailored, expensive. She pulled it on over her hospital gown.

"How is Cuba really?" she asked.

"Vitamins," Luke scoffed. "She bribed an intern in the ER to fake the stomach pump report. We have the audio."

"Keep it," Isabella said. "We don't use it yet. Let her climb higher."

The helicopter began to descend. Below them, the dark ocean crashed against the shore. A large, solitary house sat on a cliff, dark and imposing. From the air, it looked exactly as Hamilton had described it: a ruin. But Isabella knew the decaying facade was a shell. Inside was a fortress.

The Hamptons safe house.

"We're home, Boss," Luke said.

Isabella looked at the house. It was where Isabella Mckee had planned her future. It was where Isabella Oconnor would bury her past.

"Yes," she said. "We are."