Chapter 3 - The Three-Day Trap
The digital clock on the bedside table glowed with a sharp blue neon light: 11:42 PM. October 14.
I stared at the numbers, my mind spinning so fast I thought I might vomit.
October 14.
The divorce papers weren't supposed to be signed until October 17. Three days from now.
"Check the calendar," Elena said, her voice gravelly and deep as she crossed her arms inside my massive suit jacket. She walked over to the smart-home console mounted on the bedroom wall, her movements clumsy in a body she clearly hadn't adjusted to yet. "Look at the date on the network server, Dante. Go ahead. Tell me what year your precious little empire thinks it is."
With trembling, unfamiliar fingers, I reached for my tablet on the vanity. The screen lit up instantly, syncing with the penthouse mainframe.
SYSTEM DATE: OCTOBER 14, 2026.
My breath caught in my throat.
"We didn't just switch bodies," I whispered, my voice light and breathy in Elena’s throat. "We... we went back."
"Three days," Elena said, turning around to face me. In my body, she looked terrifying—a cold, towering corporate titan trapped in a state of sudden vulnerability. "Three days before the board meeting. Three days before the asset freeze. Three days before you signed the papers that you thought were going to lock me out of my own life."
I stared at her, my heart pounding against Elena’s ribs. "What are you talking about? What asset freeze?"
"You really don't know, do you?" Elena let out a harsh, bitter laugh—a sound that felt entirely wrong coming from my chest. "You spent seven years treating me like a decorative ornament in your penthouse, never once looking at what was happening right underneath your nose. You thought I wanted a divorce because I was 'emotional.' You thought I was breaking down because I couldn't handle your lifestyle."
She stepped closer, towering over the small frame of my body.
"I wanted a divorce," Elena said, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity, "because two weeks ago, I found out what you were doing with the subsidiary accounts in the Cayman Islands. And more importantly... I found out what you were hiding from me."
The room seemed to tilt.
"The Cayman accounts are clean," I stammered, gripping the edge of the vanity. "That's standard offshore structuring for the shipping expansion."
"Is it?" Elena raised an eyebrow—my eyebrow. "Then explain the forty-eight thousand dollar transfer made from the corporate reserve fund on October 10th. The one you accused me of making."
The memory hit me like a physical blow.
Four days ago, Dante had discovered a missing $48,000 from an operational expense account. Without checking the digital logs, without asking for an audit, Dante had immediately blamed Elena, accusing her of embezzling funds to pay off her personal debts or hiding money for a post-divorce escape. He had screamed at her, called her untrustworthy, and used it as ultimate justification for cutting her out of the final settlement.
"I didn't make that transfer," I said quietly.
May you like
"Of course you didn't," Elena replied. "Neither did I."
She turned toward the door, her massive shoulders shifting beneath my tailored suit. "If we want to fix this—if you ever want to see your real face in a mirror again—we have seventy-two hours to find out who stole that money from your company. Because by Friday morning, the board is executing an independent audit that will destroy Dante Moretti before the divorce even touches a courtroom."
