Oliver Chen arrived within twenty minutes.

I heard him before I saw him, the elevator chime, footsteps in the hall, a confident knock that said he'd been here before, Many times.

Marcus moved to answer, but I stopped him.

"Let me."

I opened the door.

Oliver Chen was not what I expected at all.

Tall, sharp-featured, expensive suit even at past 10 PM. Mid-thirties, maybe. The kind of man who looked like he belonged in boardrooms and five-star hotels. His eyes glowing with intelligence, calculating, swept over me with the practiced assessment of someone who was used to sizing up adversaries.

"Mrs. Banks." He extended a hand. "Oliver Chen. Though I suspect you are already well aware of who I am."

I didn't take his hand. "You're the one blackmailing my husband."

"I'd prefer 'correcting an injustice.'" He lowered his hand, unfazed. "May I come in?"

"No."

"Sandra!" Marcus called out to me.

"It's fine." Oliver's smile didn't reach his eyes. "We can talk here. Though your neighbors might find the conversation interesting."

I stepped aside.

He walked in like he owned the place, immediately making himself comfortable on Marcus's couch. Marcus hovered near the door, looking like all he wanted at that point was to disappear.

"Drink?" Oliver asked, gesturing to Marcus's bar cart.

"This isn't a social call," I said coldly.

"Isn't it?" He leaned back, studying me. "Your brother and I have been seeing each other for eight months. That makes us practically family."

"You used him."

"I fell in love with him." Oliver's expression didn't change. "Those two things aren't mutually exclusive."

Marcus flinched.

I sat across from Oliver, arms crossed. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why blackmail Jimmy? Why now? Why any of this?"

Oliver was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Because your husband is a thief," he said simply. "And because three years ago, he hired my firm to help him commit fraud. I didn't know what I was getting into at first-just another corporate restructuring job. But the deeper I dug, the more I realized what he'd done."

"He stole something that wasn't his," Oliver said with a stern look. "Morrison Properties wasn't just a business. It was your father's legacy. Your identity. Your future. And Jimmy took it, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of Sandra Morrison except a signature on a marriage certificate."

The words hit like acid.

"So what? You decided to be my avenging angel?"

"I decided to give you a choice." Oliver pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. "Six months ago, I sent Jimmy my first demand. Return everything to you, or I release the evidence. He refused. Said you'd never believe me. Said you were too far gone."

"Clearly he was wrong."

"Was he?" Oliver's eyes locked on mine. "You've known something was wrong for a year, Sandra. The affair rumors. The late nights. The way he looks through you like you're furniture. But you didn't do anything. You just kept pretending."

"I didn't have proof."

"You didn't want proof," he interrupted. "Because proof meant admitting you'd made a mistake. And women like you smart, accomplished, proud, would rather disappear than admit they were wrong."

I wanted to slap him.

Instead, I said, "What do you want?"

"Nothing from you." Oliver stood, straightening his jacket. "The demands are for Jimmy. He has seventy-two hours to transfer Banks Enterprises back to you. All of it. If he doesn't, I go to the SEC, the FBI, and every major news outlet in the country with everything I have."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then the evidence disappears. He gets to walk away with his reputation intact. And you get back what was always yours."

It sounded too easy. Too clean.

"Why would he agree to that?" I asked. "He'd lose everything."

"Not everything. He'd keep his freedom." Oliver moved toward the door. "Prison is a powerful motivator."

"And what about Marcus?" The question came out sharper than I intended. "Where does he fit in your grand plan?"

Oliver stopped, hand on the doorknob. For the first time, something genuine flickered in his expression.

"Marcus was never part of the plan," he said quietly. "He was... unexpected."

"Convenient, you mean."

"No." Oliver turned to face me. "Inconvenient. Complicated. Real." He glanced at my brother, who still hadn't moved from his spot by the wall. "I didn't expect to care about him. But I do."

"That's supposed to make this better?"

"It's supposed to explain why I'm telling you the truth now instead of letting you figure it out on your own." Oliver opened the door. "I could've stayed anonymous. Could've watched this play out from a distance. But Marcus asked me to meet you, so here I am."

"How noble."

"I'm not noble, Mrs. Banks. I'm pragmatic." He stepped into the hallway. "Your husband has seventy-two hours. After that, the choice is out of my hands."

The door closed behind him.

Marcus and I stood in silence for a long moment.

"Say something," he finally whispered.

"What do you want me to say?" I whispered back sinking into the couch. "That it's okay? That I understand? And why are we even whispering"

He smiled a little and the tension for a moment eased up.

"I didn't know" he said.

"You should have asked." I looked up at him. "Eight months, Marcus. Eight months, and you never thought to mention you were dating someone who worked for Jimmy?"

"He told me he was a consultant. That's all." Marcus sat beside me, head in his hands. "I didn't know about the blackmail until tonight. I swear."

"But you knew something was wrong."

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

"The DUI," I said slowly. "When the press caught you with Oliver. That wasn't an accident, was it?"

"I don't know." Marcus's voice cracked. "Maybe. Oliver says it wasn't, but..."

"But you don't trust him anymore."

"I don't know what I trust." He looked at me, eyes red.

"Do you believe him? About Jimmy?"

I thought about the flash drive. The emails. The offshore accounts. Years of evidence, all pointing to the same conclusion.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I do."

"So what are you going to do?"

Good question.

I could confront Jimmy. Demand the truth. Give him a chance to explain.

Or I could stay silent. Let Oliver's deadline pass. Watch my husband's empire crumble.

Or...

"I'm going to have a talk with Isabelle Laurent," I said.

Marcus blinked. "The fixer?"

"She knows everything. Where the bodies are buried. How deep the fraud goes." I stood, grabbing my purse. "If I'm going to make a decision about my marriage, I need all the information."

"How are you going to find her?"

I pulled out my phone and opened the photos Oliver had compiled. Found one with a clear shot of Isabelle outside a building.

Mercier Consulting. Fifth Avenue.

"I'll start there."

James was still waiting in the car when I emerged from Marcus's building. If he was surprised by the late hour, he didn't show it.

"Home, Mrs. Banks?"

"Yes." I slid into the backseat. "But I'll need you to drive me somewhere tomorrow morning. Early. Before Jimmy wakes up. That's if he's homes." I chuckled beneath my breath.

"Where?"

"Mercier Consulting. Fifth Avenue."

James's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "May I ask why?"

I didn't flinch, didn't say a word, just fixed my gaze on him and he got the memo.

He nodded slowly. "What time?"

"Seven AM. And James?" I leaned forward. "This stays between us."

"Always, ma'am."

I got home just after midnight.

The house was dark except for a light in Jimmy's study. Through the window, I could see his silhouette hunched over his desk, phone pressed to his ear.

I stood in the driveway and watched him.

From here, he looked like the man I'd married. Focused, Driven, Beautiful in the way complex equations are beautiful.

But up close, I knew what I'd find. Cold eyes, Lies. A stranger wearing my husband's face.

I didn't go inside.

Instead, I got back in the car and told James to drive.

"Where to?"

"I don't care. Just...anywhere but here."

We drove for an hour. Past the suburbs. Past the city limits. Until the roads were empty and the trailings of street lights looked unending.

James finally pulled over at a rest stop.

"Mrs. Banks," he said gently. "You should rest."

"I can't." My voice sounded hollow. "If I stop moving, I'll fall apart."

"Then fall apart." He turned in his seat. "You've been holding yourself together for months. Maybe it's time to let go."

"I don't know how."

"Start small." He handed me a bottle of water from the console. "Drink this. Let yourself feel something other than fear."

I took the water but didn't drink it.

"How did you know?" I asked. "That I was afraid?"

"Because I've been your chauffeur for five years, ma'am. And I've watched you disappear." His expression was kind. Sad.

"The woman who got in my car today isn't the woman who hired me. That Sandra Morrison would've burned the world down before she let someone steal from her. This Sandra Banks..." He trailed off.

"This Sandra is weak."

"No." James shook his head. "This Sandra is tired. There's a difference."

I finally drank the water. It was cold, Real.

"What if I can't get her back?" I whispered. "What if I've been gone too long?"

"Then you start over." James turned back to the wheel. "You're still breathing, Mrs. Banks. That means you still have a choice."

We got back to the house at 2 AM. Jimmy's study light was off now. The whole house was dark.

I went inside quietly, past the master bedroom where Jimmy was presumably sleeping, and into the guest room that had become my sanctuary.

I didn't turn on the lights. Just lay on the bed, still in my clothes, staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

You have 71 hours.

Oliver. Reminding me the clock was ticking.

Another text, this one from Dr. Vivian Chen.

Did you open the drive? Now you understand.

I typed back: Why did you really help me?

Her response came immediately.

Because no one helped me when I needed it. And because I'm tired of watching powerful men destroy good women.

I set the phone down and closed my eyes.

Seventy-one hours.

Three days to decide whether to save my marriage or destroy it.

Three days to figure out who I wanted to be when this was over.

Sandra Morrison. Sandra Banks.

Or someone entirely new.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, light was streaming through the windows and my phone was ringing.

6:47 AM. James.

"I'm downstairs, Mrs. Banks. Whenever you're ready."

I sat up, disoriented. Then I remembered.

Mercier Consulting. Isabelle Laurent.

I splashed water on my face, changed into fresh clothes, and went downstairs.

Jimmy was in the kitchen, already dressed for work, coffee in hand.

He looked up when I entered. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Join the club." He set down his mug. "I have a meeting at eight. Probably won't be home until late."

"Of course."

He studied me for a moment. "Are you okay?"

The question was perfunctory of course. He didn't really want to know.

"Fine," I said. "Just tired."

"You should rest. You look..." He gestured vaguely at my face. "Drained."

"Thanks."

He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. Then stopped.

"Sandra?"

I turned.

"I know things have been difficult between us," he said carefully. "But we'll get through this. We always do."

The lie was so smooth I almost believed it.

"Sure," I said. "We always do."

He left.

I waited until I heard his car pull away. Then I grabbed my purse and went out to where James was waiting.

"Mercier Consulting," I said, sliding into the backseat.

"Yes, ma'am."

We drove in silence. I watched the city wake up around us, joggers, dog walkers, delivery trucks. Normal people living normal lives, with a touch of luxury. That morning, I wondered if all the very wealthy people really lived happily. If all was just a farcade and a cover up but then again I remembered my parents, they were the second richest elites in the states and they had a bond I have never seen anywhere else.

What did that feel like?

Mercier Consulting was housed in a sleek glass building on Fifth Avenue. All chrome and marble and intimidating modernity.

I walked in like I belonged there.

The receptionist looked up. "Good day ma'am, Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Isabelle Laurent."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No. But she'll want to see me." I met her eyes. "Tell her Sandra Banks is here."

The receptionist's professional smile faltered. "One moment."

She picked up the phone, whispered something, listened.

"Ms. Laurent will be right down."

I sat in the lobby and waited.

Five minutes later, the elevator opened.

Isabelle Laurent stepped out.

She was more beautiful in person. Blonde hair falling perfectly with a curl that seemed animated, glittering from the sunrays, obviously over gelled I thought with a smirk. Perfectly tailored suit. She was the kind of woman who looked effortlessly powerful.

Her eyes found mine, and something flickered in them. Surprise. Maybe respect.

"Mrs. Banks," she said, crossing the lobby. "This is unexpected."

"I'm not here for pleasantries."

"I gathered." She gestured to the elevator. "My office?"

I stood. "Lead the way."

Isabelle's office wasn't without decor but not ones that screamed for attention, it was mostly bland. A Portable glass desk, three office chairs, a hibiscus flower in a white vase, No pictures or personal touches. It was a kind of space designed for people who didn't stay long.

She gestured to a chair. "Please."

I sat, keeping my purse on my lap, My phone was recording-not that I'd disclose it or make it obvious.

Isabelle settled behind her desk, fingers flickering a pen. "I assume you've spoken with Oliver Chen."

"Among others."

"Then you know what your husband has done."

"I know what you helped him do," I retorted. "Money laundering, Fraud. You weren't just documenting his crimes, Ms. Laurent. You were enabling them."

A small smile. "Guilty as charged."

Her honesty caught me off guard.

"So you admit it's true then?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She leaned forward. "I'm a corporate fixer, Mrs. Banks. My job is to make problems disappear. Your husband had problems and I solved them. That's not illegal, it's business."

"Fraud is illegal."

"Only if you get caught." She tilted her head. "But you're not here to arrest me. The FBI doesn't send the wife. So what do you really want?"

Good question.

I'd come here for answers, proof, for something that would help me make sense of the turmoil that had become of my life.

But sitting across from this woman, this beautiful cold efficient instrument of my husband's betrayal, I realized what I really wanted.

"I want to know why."Isabelle's smile faded.

"Why would you help him to destroy me?" My voice shook. "You must have known what he was doing. You must have known that company was mine and that he stole it. That every dollar he made was built on my family's legacy. So why help him?"

She was quiet for a long moment.

"Because he paid me," she said finally. "And because I don't make moral judgments about my clients. That's not my job."

"I see, very Convenient."

"Practical." Isabelle stood and walked to the window. "You want me to feel guilty. To say I'm sorry I helped destroy your life. But I'm not. Because you destroyed your own life, Mrs. Banks. The moment you signed those papers. The moment you chose love over logic."

The words landed like cold splash.

"You don't know anything about my marriage."

"I know everything about your marriage." She turned to face me. "I've read your emails. Listened to your phone calls. Watched you slowly disappear while your husband built an empire on your grave. And you know what the saddest part is?"

I didn't answer.

"You let him." Isabelle's voice was soft. Almost pitying. "You're not a victim, Sandra. You're a volunteer."

My hands clenched in my lap. "I came here for information. Not a lecture."

"Then let me be clear about something." She returned to her desk, crossing her arms. "What your husband did, the restructuring, the offshore accounts, the creative accounting-that's business. Aggressive? Yes. Illegal? That depends on who's looking and what they want to find. But it's business, Mrs. Banks. Nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" My voice rose. "He stole my company!"

"He took what you gave him and made it profitable. There's a difference." Isabelle's expression was ice. "I don't owe you explanations or apologies. I did a job. I did it well. That's all."

"So what I'm just going to watch you help him erase me from my own company?"

She looked at me with such cold stares I felt the jitters

"I won't betray a client without reason. If you want information from me, you'll need to give me a reason to talk. A good one."

Before I could respond, her phone buzzed on the desk.

She glanced at it. Her expression changed just slightly, but I could tell.

Concern, Maybe fear.

"You need to leave," she said abruptly.

"Now, Mrs. Banks." She stood, gesturing toward the door. "We'll talk again if you need to. But right now, you need to go."

"I'm not done talking" I hesitated

Her phone buzzed again. She picked it up, read the screen, and her jaw tightened.

"Your husband is on his way here. Right now. If he finds you here, it will complicate things neither of us can afford."

My blood ran cold.

"Infact, he's already here and you can't be here when he comes into the building so you need to leave" She showed me the screen.

Coming up. Need to discuss the Chen situation. 5 minutes.

"Go," Isabelle said firmly. "Out the side exit. Down the hall, take the stairs, not the elevator. He'll be coming up the main elevator."

She practically pushed me toward the door.

"Wait when can we talk again?"

"I'll contact you if I need to." She opened the door. "Now go."

I hurried down the hall, heart hammering. Behind me, I heard the elevator chime.

I pushed through the stairwell door and took the stairs down two at a time.

I burst out of the side exit into an alley, breathing hard.

James was parked out front. I circled around, keeping my head down, scanning for Jimmy's car.

The Riveran wasn't there.

Maybe he'd parked in the underground garage. Maybe he'd taken a car service.

I couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

"Mrs. Banks?" James opened the door, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know." I slid into the backseat. "Take me home."

The house was alive when I got back.

Jaden's backpack by the door. His shoes kicked off in the entryway. The sound of cartoons from the living room.

"Jaden?" I called out.

"Mummy!" He appeared from the dinning, chocolate butter smeared all over his cheek. "You're home!"

I hugged him tight, breathing in his little-boy smell, sugar and sweat and something indefinably him.

"Why are you home early?" I asked.

"Half-day. Teacher training." He pulled away, bouncing on his toes. "And look what came!"

He dragged me to the dining room table.

A hamper sat there. Enormous. Wrapped in cellophane and tied with a gold bow. Inside: champagne, chocolates, imported cheeses, caviar. The kind of gift basket that costs more than most people's monthly rent.

"It's from my school!" Jaden said proudly.

I found the card nestled among the goodies.

Thick cardstock. Gold embossed lettering.

Mr. and Mrs. Banks,

You are cordially invited to the Whitmore Academy Founders' Ball

Friday, 7:00 PM

Black Tie

In recognition of your extraordinary generosity and commitment to excellence in education, we are honored to name you Benefactors of the Year.

With gratitude,

Dr. Vivian Chen, Principal

My hands shook as I set down the card.

The Founders' Ball. In three days.

The same timeline as Oliver's deadline.

This wasn't a coincidence.

"Mummy what is it?" Jaden asked.

" It's an invitation to your school event hosted for the most elite.

"Can I come?" He asked

I laughed so freely that tears streaked a little from my eyes. " But you're not a parent Jaden it's just for parents"

"Then I'll play the parent while you and mummy will be my kids"

I laughed again, almost falling over. "Alright darling you can come too"

He jumped in excitement as he disappeared quickly back into the dinning. Looking at him run, I knew I could not let myself get swallowed up by my misery, I had to be strong for him.

I stood alone in the dining room, staring at the hamper.

Dr. Vivian Chen. The woman who'd given me the flash drive. Who'd told me Jimmy was being blackmailed.

What game was she playing?

My phone buzzed. A text from a number I hadn't seen in months.

Sandra! I'm finally back in the country! Lunch this week? I've missed you so much, love–Juanita.

Juanita. My best friend. The one I'd pushed away after the scandal first began to create a buzz all over the internet. We had a little fight just before she travelled for a tour.

I stared at the message, emotions warring.

Part of me wanted to ignore it. To keep everyone at arm's length until this nightmare was over.

But another part, the part that was tired of being alone, wanted to say yes.

I typed back: Yes, When?

Her response came immediately.

Tomorrow at 1 PM, The usual place?

I'll be there.

I set down my phone and looked at the invitation again. The gold lettering. The formal script. The weight of expectation.

In three days, everything would come to a head.

And I still didn't know whose side anyone was on.

The coffee shop was tucked away in the arts and science district, the kind of place Juanita and I used to visit every other day before my life became a hollow space and a topic for society's pages.

The coffee here actually tasted like real coffee, rather than a status symbol.

I arrived first, ordered a cappuccino and sat by the window. My phone buzzed. Marcus had texted me three times since this morning, asking if I was okay. I'd reply with variations of "fine" because I didn't know what else to say.

"Sandra!"

Juanita crossed the café in a whirlwind of colours, black and purple dress, layered ornaments that effortlessly conveyed her grace. Her blonde curls were longer now, with subtle highlights. She looked beautiful and happy.

Everything I wasn't.

She pulled me into a tight hug that smelled like lavender.

"God, I've missed you," she said, pulling back to study my face. "it's been is too long."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't." She sat across from me, waving away the apology. "You had the residency. That was important."

"So was my best friend." Juanita ordered a black coffee then turned her full attention back to me. "But I'm here now. So tell me everything. How's Jaden? How's..." She paused, something flickering across her face. "How's everything?"

The hesitation was slight yet discernable and I caught it.

"Everything's fine," I said automatically.

"Sandra!" Her voice was gentle, " come on now girl, we both know that's a big fat lie."

I looked down at my untouched coffee. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

"The truth is complicated."

"it sure is." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "But I've just been away, not dead. I still have the internet, I've seen the headlines."

My chest tightened. "Then you know."

"I know there were rumors, Photos. Speculation about Jimmy and some women." Juanita's eyes searched mine. "What I don't know is how you're really doing."

I wanted to hide behind my smile and say I was handling it, that everything was fine. But this was Juanita, my oldest friend. The only person who'd known me before I became Mrs. James Banks III.

"I don't know," I admitted quietly, I don't even know who I've become."

"Oh,darling." Her grip on my hand tightened.

The waiter brought her coffee. We sat in silence while she stirred and took a sip.

"Tell me about your tour," I said, desperate to talk about anything else.

Juanita's expression softened. "magnificent. I had a studio overlooking the Tuscan hills, Sandra you should've seen the light at sunrise." She scrolled through her camera roll, finding image after image of vibrant, powerful paintings. "I met this group of female artists. We'd have these long dinners with too much wine and talk about art and life and everything."

I looked at the paintings. Women in bold colors, taking up space looking confident.

"They're beautiful," I said.

"They're free." Juanita set down her phone. "That's what I kept thinking the whole time I was there. These women were just... free."

The unspoken comparison hung between us.

"Now tell me about you," she said. "And don't change the subject."

I took a breath and let it out slowly.

"Do you remember that summer? Before Jimmy and I got engaged?"

"Of course. You were insufferable sandra." Juanita smiled. "Completely head-over-heels."

"I was so sure, So certain he was the one."

"You were in love."

"I was an idiot."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive." She tilted her head. "What happened, Sandra?"

"I gave him everything." The words came slowly,"The company, my identity. I thought we were partners, that we were building a life together. But somewhere along the way, I stopped being Sandra Morrison and became just... Mrs. Banks. The wife. The expensive house decor."

"And Jimmy?"

"Jimmy became exactly what he always wanted to be. Powerful, successful, untouchable." I finally took a sip of my coffee. It was cold. "I was just the ladder he climbed."

Juanita was quiet for a moment.

"I tried to warn you," she said gently. "Remember? Before the wedding, I said he was too ambitious, too focused and that he looked at you like you were a means to an end."

"I remember." I smiled bitterly. "You were right."

"I didn't want to be right."

"But I loved him, Juanita. God, I loved him so much. I thought if I just loved him enough, supported him enough, he'd see me. Really see me."

"But he didn't." My voice cracked. "He never did. I was always just... useful. A convenient package, the money, the company, the connections."

Juanita reached across and squeezed both my hands.

"Sandra, you can't blame yourself for loving someone."

"Can't I?" I pulled my hands back. "Everyone saw it except me. You saw it. My parents saw it, that's why they refused to come to the wedding. Even Marcus had his doubts. But I was so convinced."

"Love should be enough," Juanita said softly.

"But it's not. Not when the other person is... Jimmy." I shook my head. "I keep going back through the years, trying to figure out when it changed. When he stopped loving me, if he ever loved me at all."

"What does he say?"

I laughed, sharp and bitter. "He doesn't even try to acknowledge anything, always changing the subject and evading the questions. He acts like nothing is wrong, like he has nothing to answer for."

"That's gaslighting."

"Is it? Because part of me wonders if he's right." I met her eyes. "I did give up everything. I did step back from the company. Maybe I am just bitter that he succeeded where I was too weak..."

"Stop." Juanita's voice was sharp. "Don't you dare. You didn't give up, you were pushed out. There's a difference."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you." She leaned forward. "The Sandra Morrison I knew didn't give up on anything. She fought for every deal, every contract, every inch of respect in rooms full of men who underestimated her. That woman wouldn't have just walked away unless someone convinced her that's what love required."

The words hit something deep inside me.

"You told me so," I whispered. "You told me he was using me, and I didn't listen."

"Sandra..."

"No, you did. You said he looked at me like an opportunity, a business deal. And I told you that you just didn't understand what we had." I stopped, shame flooding through me. "I pushed you away because you were telling me the truth I didn't want to hear."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just saw the way he calculated everything. Even at your engagement party, he spent more time networking with your father's business partners than celebrating with you."

"I thought he was being professional."

"He was. Just not the future you thought you were building together." She took a sip of her coffee. " So what are you going to do now?"

My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Marcus.

Emergency. I Need to see you now. Where are you?

I stared at the message, heart pounding .

"What is it?" Juanita asked.

"Marcus. Something's wrong." I texted back: Moon Café. Arts and science district.

His response came immediately. I'm 10 minutes away. Don't leave.

I looked up at Juanita. "I'm so sorry. I have to leave."

"Go. It's fine." She stood when I did, pulling me into another hug. "be strong ok"

I hugged her tight. "Thank you, I really needed that."

"Call me later. And if you need me for anything-I'm here. I mean it!"

I grabbed my purse and left money on the table.

As I headed for the door, Juanita called after me.

"Sandra?"

I turned.

"He never deserved you," she said quietly. "I hope you know that."

I nodded, throat tight, and pushed out into the afternoon sun.

Marcus was pacing on the sidewalk when I arrived. His hair was disheveled. Shirt untucked. Eyes wild in a way I'd never seen before.

"Marcus, what's wrong?"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me down the street, away from the café windows.

"Oliver's gone," he said.

"What do you mean gone?"

"I mean gone. Disappeared. I went to his apartment this morning but he wasn't there. His phone goes straight to voicemail."

My stomach dropped. "When did this happen?"

"Sometime last night. We had dinner, everything seemed fine. Then this morning, nothing." Marcus ran a hand through his hair. "Sandra, I think Jimmy did something."

"Jimmy, really?"

"Wouldn't he?" Marcus's eyes locked on mine. "Think about it. Oliver's blackmailing him, has evidence that could destroy him. And now, right before whatever deadline he set, Oliver vanishes? That's not a coincidence."

"You don't know that marcus."

"Who else would it be?" Marcus's voice rose, then dropped to an urgent whisper. "Jimmy has The connections, the motivation. And you know how scheming he can be, always steps ahead."

I had seen and felt it. The way Jimmy approached everything like a chess game.

But this, this was different,

"We need to call the police," I said.

"And tell them what? That my boyfriend who's been blackmailing my brother-in-law is missing?" Marcus shook his head. "They'll ask questions we can't answer without implicating ourselves. We need to figure out what happened first."

"Or what?" I asked, though I already knew.

Marcus's expression was haunted. "Or whether Jimmy made sure he couldn't talk."

The words hung in the air between us.

Around us, the city didn't flinch, Life continued.

But standing there on that sidewalk, looking at my brother's face, I felt everything tilt sideways.

If Jimmy had done something to Oliver, if he was capable of that, then what else was he capable of?

"We need to be smart about this," I said quietly. "If Jimmy did do something, we can't let him know we're looking."

"So what do we do?"

I thought about the invitation to the Founders' Ball. About playing the perfect wife one more time while my marriage crumbled and people disappeared.

"We act normal," I said. "We're going to that ball tomorrow night. We smile and play our parts and we figure out what happened to