Chapter 8 - The Woman in the Blue CoatAdministrative leave lasted less than twenty-four hours before it became something else entirely.
A trap.
At nine the next morning, I met Victoria and Detective Torres in the executive suite.
Julian joined by encrypted video from corporate headquarters.
He had been awake most of the night.
I could tell because his normally perfect hair looked like he'd lost an argument with electricity.
“We found the access point,” he said.
“Who?”
“Not who. Where.”
A diagram appeared on-screen.
“The forged model was uploaded through a workstation assigned to the fourteenth-floor strategy conference center.”
“That floor requires badge access,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Whose badge?”
“No badge event.”
Victoria frowned.
“Then how did someone get in?”
“Service elevator.”
My building employed overnight cleaning crews.
Contractors.
Caterers.
Maintenance workers.
Hundreds of people had temporary access.
Julian continued.
“The workstation itself was unlocked using an emergency administrator token.”
“Who has those?”
“IT security.”
“How many people?”
“Thirty-two.”
I almost laughed.
“Wonderful.”
He wasn't finished.
“But the person who used it made a mistake.”
Finally.
“What?”
“They inserted a USB device.”
Torres leaned toward the screen.
“Can you trace that?”
“Serial number.”
“And?”
Julian's expression shifted.
“That exact USB device was connected three months ago to a laptop belonging to someone in finance.”
My heart started beating harder.
“Name.”
He hesitated.
“Rebecca Sloan.”
I knew Rebecca.
Everyone did.
Vice President of Credit Risk.
Forty-five.
Controlled.
Elegant.
Ambitious enough to make ambition look like a religion.
More importantly, she had been one of the candidates competing against me for the Managing Director promotion.
She lost.
I got the job.
Rebecca congratulated me with champagne.
Apparently, she had been drinking poison.
Police couldn't move against her based on one USB connection.
So we didn't confront her.
Instead, Julian created a false piece of information.
A fabricated executive memo stating that forensic evidence from the compromised model had been recovered and would be turned over to federal investigators at five that afternoon.
Only four people received the memo.
Douglas.
Legal.
Julian.
Rebecca.
At 12:07 PM, Rebecca left the office.
At 12:31, she entered the underground garage of a luxury apartment building six blocks away.
At 12:39, Detective Torres watched Preston walk out.
The connection was no longer theoretical.
My rival was helping my ex-husband destroy me.
But why?
Jealousy alone seemed too simple.
The answer arrived from the least expected person.
At three forty, Marcus called.
“I found a woman who wants to talk to you.”
“What woman?”
“She contacted me.”
“How did she get your number?”
“Claire, you're going to want to hear this.”
Her name was Evelyn Hale.
Preston's older sister.
I had met her exactly twice during our engagement.
Both times she'd been polite but distant.
Preston had described her as unstable.
Dramatic.
Jealous.
A disappointment to the family.
I had accepted that description because Evelyn lived across the country and never involved herself in our lives.
Now she was sitting in the corner of a small hotel café wearing a blue wool coat despite the warm weather.
She looked exhausted.
When I sat down, she didn't waste time.
“My brother has done this before.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What?”
Evelyn swallowed.
“You weren't the first woman.”
Victoria leaned forward.
“Explain.”
“There was someone named Natalie. About eight years ago.”
“Married?”
“Engaged.”
“What happened?”
“Preston became controlling after they moved in together. Money first. Then friends. Then clothes. Then... physical threats.”
I stared at her.
“Did he hit her?”
“Yes.”
The word landed like stone.
“Police?”
“Natalie withdrew the complaint.”
“Why?”
“My parents.”
Of course.
Evelyn's eyes filled with shame.
“My father knew people. He convinced Natalie that pursuing charges would destroy Preston's future. My mother gave her money to leave quietly.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
Victoria wrote something down.
“Where is Natalie now?”
“I don't know.”
“Why tell us this now?” I asked.
Evelyn looked directly at me.
“Because six months ago, when your annulment happened, Preston called me drunk.”
“What did he say?”
“That you humiliated him. That you cheated him. That women like you needed to be corrected.”
A chill moved through my body.
“He also said he'd found someone who hated you almost as much as he did.”
“Rebecca.”
Evelyn nodded.
“They met years ago.”
That surprised me.
“How?”
“Business school.”
Rebecca and Preston had known each other before I had met either of them.
Suddenly the entire situation became larger.
“How close were they?”
Evelyn looked uncomfortable.
“Very.”
Marcus spoke first.
“Define very.”
“They were engaged.”
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes betrayal reaches a level so absurd your body refuses to respond normally.
“Rebecca was Preston's fiancée?”
“For about a year.”
“When?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“Why did it end?”
“He cheated.”
“With Natalie?”
Evelyn nodded.
The pattern assembled itself.
Rebecca had watched me marry the man who had once humiliated her.
Then watched me destroy him in less than a week.
Then watched me receive the promotion she believed belonged to her.
Hatred didn't need to be logical.
It only needed fuel.
Victoria asked, “Why would she help him now?”
Evelyn rubbed her hands together.
“Because Preston told her something after the annulment.”
“What?”
“That Claire ruined both their lives.”
Silence.
I stared through the café window.
People crossed the street carrying shopping bags.
Normal lives.
Normal problems.
Behind me, Victoria said softly, “Two narcissists found a common enemy.”
Me.
My phone rang.
Detective Torres.
“Claire, we moved on Rebecca.”
“And?”
“She wasn't home.”
“Office?”
“Gone.”
A bad feeling formed instantly.
“What happened?”
“We believe she realized the memo was bait.”
Then Torres said the sentence that changed everything.
“Her car was found abandoned near your penthouse.”
I stood.
“Is Preston with her?”
“We don't know.”
My second phone vibrated.
A number I recognized.
My building security office.
I answered.
“Ms. Bennett?”
It was Daniel.
His voice sounded strained.
“There is a woman here insisting she's your friend.”
“What woman?”
“She says her name is Rebecca Sloan.”
My stomach dropped.
“Daniel, do not let her upstairs.”
A pause.
May you like
Then:
“I already did.”
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