My husband stood in the doorway and watched his mistress grab me by the hair and pour an entire bottle of foundation down the front of the white gown I was supposed to wear while accepting the biggest professional honor of my life. In less than twenty minutes, eight hundred people would be waiting for me downstairs, and Daniel still believed the only problem he needed to fix was my dress. But when two women opened that makeup-room door and saw what he had allowed to happen, his expression changed in a way I would never forget.

By Monday morning, Daniel’s world had completely fractured, but I knew he was far too arrogant to surrender without a fight. Cornered animals are the most dangerous, and Daniel Blake had been built on a foundation of unearned confidence his entire life.

I was sitting in my private office at Harbor House reviewing our quarterly audit when Maya knocked on the door frame. Her face was tense.

“Serena, you have a visitor downstairs,” she said, dropping her voice. “She doesn't have an appointment, and she refuses to leave.”

I didn't need to ask who it was. “Send her up, Maya.”

Thirty seconds later, Camille stepped into my office.

She looked entirely different from the woman who had smirked at me in the dressing room four nights ago. Her polished, high-end facade was slipping. She wore oversized sunglasses despite being indoors, and her expensive silk blouse was wrinkled. Without Daniel’s protective shadow, she looked small, bitter, and desperate.

She didn't wait for an invitation. She slammed the door behind her and marched up to my desk.

“You ruined my life,” Camille spat, her hands shaking as she rested her palms on the mahogany wood. “Do you know what you’ve done?! Blake & Partners suspended me without pay! I’ve been blacklisted by every architectural firm in the city! Nobody will hire me!”

I slowly signed the document in front of me, set my pen down, and looked up at her. “You ruined your own life, Camille, the moment you put your hands on me.”

“It was Daniel’s idea!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “He told me you were weak! He told me you were a fragile, pathetic woman who relied on his money to keep this silly charity running! He said if we embarrassed you publically, you’d be too ashamed to fight back during the divorce!”

I leaned back in my chair, keeping my expression completely stone-cold, though inside, a fresh wave of cold disgust washed over me. “Is that what he told you?”

“Yes!” Camille pulled out her phone with trembling fingers, furiously tapping the screen before shoving it toward my face. “Look! Look at the texts! He told me three weeks ago that he was moving all your joint savings into an off-shore shell company so you wouldn't get a dime!”

I looked down at the screen.

There they were. Dozens of text messages from Daniel to Camille.

“Don't worry babe, Serena has no idea about the Caymans account,” one message read. “She’s so focused on her little shelter project she doesn't check the investment portfolios. Once we push her out, the house and the liquidity are ours.”

My heart pounded against my ribs, but I kept my breathing slow and steady. This was the missing piece of the puzzle. I had known Daniel was cheating, but I hadn't realized he was actively committing financial fraud to bankrupt me during our marriage.

“Print those,” I said quietly.

Camille blinked, startled. “What?”

“AirDrop those screenshot files to my tablet right now,” I commanded, my tone so sharp it made her jump. “Do it, Camille, and I’ll instruct my legal team not to file criminal assault charges against you for what happened in the dressing room.”

Camille’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Her fear of prison clearly outweighed her loyalty to Daniel. “You... you won't press charges?”

“Not if I have every single message, bank routing number, and email he ever sent you regarding those hidden accounts.”

In less than two minutes, fifty-four screenshot images were transferred directly to my secure cloud server.

Camille grabbed her handbag, stepping back toward the door. “Daniel is insane, Serena. He’s losing his mind. He spent all weekend drinking in a motel down by the highway because he couldn't get into the brownstone. He’s planning to liquidate his firm’s remaining emergency reserve fund today before the board can kick him out.”

“Thank you for the information, Camille,” I said, already typing an emergency message to Arthur Vance. “Now get out of my office, and if I ever see your face near me or my staff again, the deal is off.”

She didn't need to be told twice. She turned and practically ran out of the building.

I picked up my phone and dialed Arthur immediately. “Arthur, we have him. He created a shell company in the Caymans to conceal marital assets. And he’s about to drain Blake & Partners’ emergency reserve fund within the hour.”

“If he drains that reserve fund, that’s corporate embezzlement,” Arthur said, his voice tightening with intense professional focus. “I’m calling the district attorney’s economic crimes unit right now. Meet me at the bank, Serena.”