Chapter2

The next morning, Charlotte pushed open the apartment door, reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume.

She tossed her limited-edition Hermès bag onto the sofa, rubbing her temples as she ordered me, "Get me a glass of ice water, my head is throbbing."

I sat on the sofa without moving, only pushing my phone to the edge of the coffee table. On the screen was the half-naked bed photo Carl had sent last night.

Charlotte's gaze swept across the screen, and she froze for a moment. But the next second, instead of feeling guilty, she rolled her eyes impatiently.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" She walked over, picked up a glass of cold water from the table, and drank it all in one gulp, her brow furrowed as she looked at me. "Karl always likes to make these kinds of tasteless jokes; it's just men's perverse sense of humor. Nothing happened, so why are you acting like a paranoid and refusing to let it go?"

“You’re kidding.” I sneered. “There are only two kinds of bottom lines in this world: those that can be traded and those that cannot. But in your eyes, you’re willing to use yourself as a social bargaining chip for the orders Karl holds.”

"Shut up! What do you know about business operations if you're a good-for-nothing who can't even pay rent?" Charlotte screamed as if her tail had been stepped on, slamming the bedroom door shut in her high heels.

Looking at the tightly closed door, the last trace of warmth in my eyes froze completely.

A week later, in the top-floor conference room of the Manhattan Financial Center.

All the company's directors and senior executives were present, the atmosphere as tense as a trial. Charlotte sat in the head seat, her face ashen as she stared at the table. Beside her, Carl sat with his legs crossed, a victorious grin on his face.

"Everyone, we have a rat in our company." Carl slammed a thick file onto the center of the long table with a "thud," his eyes fixed on me like those of a venomous snake.

"A third-party audit revealed that this 'good husband,' who usually only ordered takeout and printed documents for everyone, abused his administrative position to tamper with the supplier's payment account and transferred a total of two million US dollars to an anonymous account in the Cayman Islands."

These words caused an uproar in the conference room. Everyone looked at me with disdain and anger.

I calmly picked up the report and casually flipped through a couple of pages.

While their actions were indeed clean, the falsified transaction records were riddled with logical flaws in their offshore route planning. To someone like me, who grew up immersed in Wall Street trust funds and cross-border M&A deals, this report was practically a kindergarten crayon drawing.

“Carl, if you want to frame someone, at least hire an accountant who earns more than fifty dollars an hour.” I tossed the report back to him with a mocking smile. “Offshore clearing in the Cayman Islands doesn’t go through the DTC system. The path on that system is simply not feasible.”

Charlotte paused for a moment, seemingly surprised that I could understand these things.

But Carl reacted swiftly; he slammed his hand on the table and stood up abruptly, bypassing any logical debate, and shouted at Charlotte in an extremely somber voice:

"Charlotte, don't be fooled by his calm demeanor! Have you forgotten how your father died? He was emptied out of the company by his most trusted confidant, which led to his tragic end! He's now imitating those methods to try and kill you!"

The word "father" is Charlotte's eternal Achilles' heel.

Karl's words were like a poisonous thorn, instantly piercing Charlotte's last shred of reason. Her eyes reddened instantly, and her breathing became violently heaving with extreme anger.

"Enough!"

Charlotte suddenly stood up, her fingertips trembling as she pointed at me, her eyes filled with a malice and resolve I had never seen before.

“I’ve raised you for three years, and not only are you useless, you even want to ruin the only thing my father left behind? You’re a complete ingrate.” She took a deep breath and delivered her verdict in front of all the board members, “You are suspended. Now, immediately, get out of my company.”

The huge conference room was deathly silent; everyone was waiting to see me wail and beg for mercy like a stray dog.

I stared at Charlotte for three seconds.

There was no explanation, no anger.

I raised my hand and ripped off the blue name tag around my neck, throwing it with a "thud" onto the expensive wooden table in front of her.

"As you wish."

I uttered four words, not even glancing at Karl's bewildered face, and strode out of the conference room. My back remained upright, and my steady steps made the executives behind me, who wanted to mock me, swallow their words.

At my workstation, I didn't take anything. I simply took a cheap succulent plant that Charlotte had given me three years ago, pot and all, and smashed it mercilessly into the trash can in the hallway.

That night, at a private cigar club on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

I sat on the genuine leather sofa, lit a Cohiba cigarette, and dialed an encrypted transoceanic number that hadn't been used in three years.

"Young Master. You've finally decided to contact this old servant." On the other end of the phone, Smith, the family's chief intelligence officer, spoke with a hint of restrained excitement.

“Smith, investigate someone. Carl, currently in the building materials import/export trade in New York.” I exhaled a puff of blue smoke, my voice icy. “I want every single account of his family for three generations.”

"Understood. Please give me ten minutes."

Faced with the vast global power network of the old money family, the privacy that the nouveau riche from the lower classes are so proud of is like a transparent piece of tattered paper.

Just nine minutes later, an encrypted file was sent to my tablet.

My fingertips traced across the screen, my gaze growing colder until I finally couldn't help but let out a sneer. Karl, Karl, you think you've covered your tracks perfectly?

The records show that Carl's mother was a co-founder of Charlotte's father's company twenty years ago. Due to serious business fraud, she was ruthlessly dismissed by Charlotte's father and blacklisted by the entire industry. Faced with enormous debts, Carl's father jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, and his body was never recovered.

His approach to Charlotte was never that of a childhood friend or protector.

This is a revenge plot that has been brewing for twenty years, a vicious and deep-seated scheme.

I packaged all the electronic evidence, Karl's recent short-selling records, and even the legal information of his mother's overseas company into a black USB drive.

The night was deep, and I stared at the cold USB drive in my palm, my eyes completely unmoved.

Charlotte, after three years of marriage, this is the last chance I'm giving you.

If you can see the truth, I can guarantee you a lifetime of wealth and honor.

But if you still choose the clown who wants to destroy your family—

So tomorrow is the day I send you all to hell.