Harper Morris POV:
The next morning, the moment Knox left for the lab, I packed a small overnight bag. I left a pale yellow sticky note on the espresso machine, telling him I had to fly to San Francisco for a sudden family trust audit.
I took an Uber black straight to Logan International Airport and walked directly into the First Class lounge.
Six hours later, the wheels of my flight touched down on the tarmac in San Francisco. I bypassed baggage claim entirely. I had changed in the airplane lavatory into a tailored black trench coat and dark sunglasses.
I took a black car to the Financial District. Tucked in an alleyway between two towering glass skyscrapers was an unmarked, heavy oak door.
I walked in and approached the concierge. I gave him my father's elite membership number.
The waiter didn't ask questions. He led me down a dimly lit, carpeted hallway into a subterranean private room. The heavy door clicked shut behind me, sealing the room in absolute silence. The air was thick with the smell of aged tobacco and expensive leather.
Sitting in the corner booth was a massive man with a jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Corrigan. Former FBI.
*He was the man my father used to make his mistresses quietly disappear from the tabloids. I knew exactly how ruthless he could be.*
Corrigan exhaled a thick plume of cigar smoke. "Well, well. The Morris princess herself. Usually, your lawyers do the dirty work."
I sat down across from him, my face a mask of stone. The waiter stepped forward with a bottle of scotch. I raised my hand, stopping him. "No drinks. Get out."
The waiter nodded and vanished, closing the soundproof door.
I unclasped my leather handbag. I pulled out a thick manila envelope and tossed it onto the center of the mahogany table.
A glossy copy of the Polaroid photo slid out, followed by a printed sheet of paper with the phone number marked 'D'.
Corrigan picked up the photo. He studied Knox's smiling face and the pregnant woman. He let out a low whistle. "So, what are we looking at here? Catching a cheating fiancé? Or digging up a bastard kid?"
"Bigamy," I said, my voice dropping to a dead, flat register. "Financial fraud. Wire fraud. I want a complete map of his entire social and financial network."
Corrigan raised his scarred eyebrow. He realized immediately that the target was Knox Miller, the rising star of MIT and my highly publicized fiancé.
He put his cigar down in the crystal ashtray. He pulled a heavily encrypted military-grade tablet from his briefcase and typed in the phone number I had provided.
His thick fingers flew across the screen. Less than three minutes later, he turned the tablet toward me.
A name glowed in stark white text against the black screen.
*Deana Miller.*
"Deana," Corrigan read aloud.
My fingers curled into tight fists in my lap. The nails dug into my palms until the skin nearly broke.
Corrigan pulled up a background check. "Social Security Number confirms it. She's legally married. Spouse listed is Knox Miller. No divorce filings on record."
I closed my eyes. The very last, pathetic shred of denial in my chest turned to ash. He was legally married. I was the mistress.
"Alright, princess," Corrigan said, leaning forward, his voice turning strictly business. "How far do you want to take this? Do you just want the hard evidence so you can break off the engagement cleanly? Or do you want to ruin his career?"
I opened my eyes. I stared at Corrigan with a gaze so sharp it could cut glass.
"I want you to strip him down to his underwear," I said quietly. "I want to take everything he has, everything he thinks he has, and everything he will ever have. I want him to wish he was dead."
Corrigan stared at me for a long second. Then, a slow, dark grin spread across his scarred face. He quoted a massive, seven-figure investigation fee.
I didn't blink. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out an unregistered black bearer card, and slid it across the table.
Corrigan picked it up and tapped it against his knuckles. "Give me one week. I'll dig up every dirty penny he's ever touched since he was born."
I stood up from the leather booth. "One more thing. Focus heavily on any hidden offshore accounts under his name or his mother's."
Corrigan nodded, logging the request. He watched me walk toward the door. "Remind me never to piss off the women in your family."
I stepped out of the club and onto the San Francisco pavement. The freezing wind whipped off the bay, hitting my face and clearing my mind perfectly.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. A voice message from Knox.
I pressed play. *Baby, the coffee in the lab is absolute garbage today. I miss the way you make it. Hurry home to me.*
I listened to the sickeningly sweet cadence of his voice. A cruel, jagged smile curved onto my lips.
I held down the microphone button and forced my voice into a soft, loving purr. "I miss you too, darling. Be a good boy and wait for me."
I sent the audio file. Then, I held down the power button and shut the phone off completely. I stepped to the curb and hailed a passing cab, giving the driver the address of my family's trust fund headquarters.
"Find out everything about him. I want to know every breath of air he's ever taken."
