Elinor's new temporary sanctuary was Harper's guest room, but it felt like a command center. The city lights of Manhattan glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent and beautiful.
Harper plugged the rescued hard drive into her laptop. "Okay, let's see what the little thief was trying to destroy."
Elinor sat at the keyboard. Her fingers moved with the fluidity of a concert pianist. She bypassed the encryption on her own files in seconds.
A folder named Aurora appeared.
She opened it. Dozens of intricate architectural renderings filled the screen. A sustainable urban park design. Her secret thesis from the architecture degree she'd completed online, a hidden rebellion against the Logan family's insistence that she become a docile corporate wife after her time as a forensic accountant. Her soul.
Harper pulled up a browser window on her tablet. She searched "Chanelle Cross Award Winning Design."
She held the tablet next to the laptop screen.
They were identical.
"That bitch," Harper breathed. "She didn't just steal your husband. She stole your brain."
Elinor didn't rage. She smiled. It was a cold, sharp thing.
She minimized the drawings and opened an Excel spreadsheet. This file was hidden deep in a system folder labeled System32_Config.
It was the Logan Family Trust ledger.
She had audited it once, as a favor to Julius, before she had fully understood the cage she was in. She understood money trails better than Julius understood people.
She filtered the data.
Victoria Cross Holdings. Chanelle's mother's company.
"Look," Elinor pointed.
For three years, the company had been bleeding money. Yet, every month, a substantial injection of cash appeared from a shell company in the Caymans.
Elinor traced the shell company. It linked back to a subsidiary of Logan Group.
She typed into the text-to-speech app.
"Chanelle isn't in love. She is in debt. She is using Julius to launder money to save her mother's business."
Harper's jaw dropped. "This is federal prison level stuff. This is RICO."
"Step one: IP theft," Elinor typed. "Step two: Follow the money."
Harper rubbed her hands together. "I know a shark. An IP litigator who eats people like Chanelle for breakfast."
Ding.
Elinor's phone lit up. A notification from the bank.
Alert: Card Ending in 4490 Declined. Account Frozen by Primary Holder.
"He cut you off," Harper said, reading the screen. "That petty little man."
Elinor reached into her bag. She pulled out a small, silver USB stick. A cold storage wallet.
She plugged it into the laptop.
She opened the crypto interface.
Harper leaned in. "What is that?"
Elinor logged in. The balance refreshed.
20.04 BTC.
Harper choked. "Elinor... is that...?"
Elinor typed. "I was silent. Not blind. My last bonus from my forensic accounting career. A contingency fund."
She transferred a sum to Harper's bank account.
"Retainer," she typed. "And rent."
Harper stared at her friend. "You're not a victim, El. You're a sleeper agent."
Elinor closed the laptop.
In another part of the city, Julius was pushing Chanelle away as she tried to kiss him. He was angry. He was confused.
Elinor walked to the whiteboard on Harper's wall. She wrote Chanelle in red marker.
She drew a big, red X over the name.
She picked up her phone and sent a message to a real estate agent.
I'll take the loft in SoHo. Cash offer.
