Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Machine
Ten minutes later, the front door slammed shut. From the upstairs window, Oliver and I watched as Dean, Vanessa, and his parents walked down our long, paved driveway. They didn't have cars; Agent Miller had already ordered the corporate-leased SUVs to be locked down. They looked small, pathetic, and utterly broken, walking down the suburban street in the morning sun while the neighbors peeked through their blinds.
I took Oliver downstairs, made him a fresh bowl of oatmeal, and put on his favorite cartoon. Once he was settled, I walked back into the kitchen where Agent Miller was waiting, sipping a glass of water.
"You handled that beautifully, Ms. Prescott," Miller said, handing me a folder. "But this is just the beginning. The freeze order on Prescott North Creative is active, but Dean’s lawyers are going to fight the default clause. They’re going to claim you acted in bad faith."
"Let them," I said, sitting down at the island and opening the folder. "They don't know about the ghost in the machine."
"The ghost?"
"Dean thinks he’s a creative genius," I explained, a cold smile touching my lips. "But he’s lazy. He didn't build the proprietary design software that made Prescott North a $2.4 million company. I hired a team of developers from Austin three years ago under a separate corporate entity called 'N.P. Holdings.' Dean’s company doesn't own the software. They license it from me for a dollar a year, renewable every November."
Agent Miller’s eyes widened. "And what date is it today, Natalie?"
"It's November 18th," I said smoothly. "The renewal deadline was yesterday at 5:00 PM. Dean was so distracted by his affair and his midnight cash crisis that he forgot to sign the renewal rider. As of sixteen hours ago, Prescott North Creative has no legal right to use the very software that runs their entire operation."
I pulled out my laptop, logged into the administrative portal, and looked at the blinking green icon that represented the lifeblood of my husband's firm.
Without this software, Prescott North was just an empty office building with a couple of expensive desks and a pile of unrenderable blueprints. The $2.4 million valuation would plummet to zero by noon.
"Are you going to shut it down?" Miller asked, leaning over my shoulder.
"Not yet," I murmured. "I want Dean to think he still has a chance. I want him to go to his office, gather his staff, and try to log in to show Vanessa how powerful he still is. I want him to watch the screen go black in front of everyone he tried to impress."
My phone buzzed on the counter. It was a text message from an unknown number.
“You think you're clever, Natalie. But I have the original corporate account ledgers. If I go down, I'm taking your credit score and your professional license with me. Sign the divorce papers by 2 PM, or I release everything to the board.” — Dean.
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I stared at the screen. He was still trying to bluff. He still didn't realize that in a game of chess against the person who built the board, the king is always a few moves away from checkmate.
I typed back a simple response: “See you at the office, Dean. Bring Vanessa. I like an audience.”
