Chapter 2 - The Art of the DismantlingThe drive back to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport was an exercise in absolute, suffocating silence.
Landon had tried to follow Sloane, then tried to block Harper’s path, and finally tried to beg Brit and Keeley for mercy—all of which ended with Brit politely informing him that if he came within ten feet of Harper’s car, she would personally break his nose with a heavy-duty tire iron. Landon had stayed behind at the resort, stranded in his casita suite with a maxed-out corporate card and no ride home.
In the back seat of the rented SUV, Harper stared out the window at the dark desert highway, watching the neon lights of Scottsdale blur into streaks of amber and red.
“You okay, Hells?” Keeley asked softly from the passenger seat, turning around to check on her friend.
“I’m not crying, am I?” Harper replied, her voice steady, though her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap her knuckles looked like carved ivory.
“You’re terrifying,” Brit corrected from behind the wheel, a grim, approving smile playing on her lips. “That was a masterclass in emotional warfare. Setting the roses to arrive at 8:30? Absolute poetry.”
Harper leaned her head back against the leather headrest, closing her eyes. “I didn’t want to scream at him. Screaming gives them power. It makes them think they still matter enough to make you lose your temper. I wanted him to realize that the life he thought he was escaping never actually belonged to the man he became.”
“So, what’s the playbook?” Brit asked, merging onto the highway ramp toward the airport. “Do we clean out the joint accounts tonight, or do we wait until Monday morning when the banks open?”
Harper opened her eyes. The numbness was gone now, replaced by a sharp, calculating clarity. She was the granddaughter of a stubborn ironworker from upstate New York and the daughter of an accountant who taught her that every ledger balance had to reconcile. Landon had spent twelve years keeping two sets of books. It was time for Harper to audit the whole damn thing.
“We wait until Monday,” Harper said softly. “Because by the time Landon flies back to New York tomorrow afternoon, he’s going to find out that his professional life is just as messy as his personal one.”
Brit glanced in the rearview mirror, her eyes narrowing with interest. “What did you do?”
“Nothing yet,” Harper smiled—a small, razor-sharp expression that didn't reach her eyes. “Landon used his corporate expense account to fund at least four of Sloane’s weekend trips to Miami and Scottsdale, coding them under client relations for regional logistics acquisitions. He assumed his supervisor, old man Henderson, would never look twice at the receipts because Landon brings in three million dollars in annual contracts.”
“And Henderson is your client’s uncle, right?” Keeley remembered suddenly, her eyes widening.
“Not just my client,” Harper said, pulling out her phone. “Henderson is the senior partner at the accounting firm where I’ve managed corporate tax compliance for the last five years. Landon thought I was just a sweet little freelance graphic designer who dabbled in spreadsheets. He forgot that I audited his company’s entire regional tax filing last November.”
Harper unlocked her phone, opened a secure encrypted folder, and tapped the screen twice.
“Sent,” she whispered.
“Sent what?” Brit asked.
“A comprehensive, fully documented forensic report detailing how Landon Cross embezzled approximately forty-two thousand dollars of corporate funds to finance his mistress’s lifestyle,” Harper said smoothly. “Including hotel reservations, jewelry store receipts, and timestamped text message screenshots.”
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Keeley let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Jesus, Harper. You didn't just burn his house down; you salted the earth so nothing would ever grow there again.”
“Twelve years is a long time to learn someone’s vulnerabilities,” Harper replied, turning her face back to the dark window as the airport terminals came into view. “Landon wanted a second life? Fine. Let’s see how much it costs him to maintain it when he doesn't have a job to pay for the tickets.”
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