Chapter 8 - The Poisoned Investment
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Three million dollars. Vanguard account.
Daniel leaned back in his leather office chair, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp hiss. The Vanguard project was the massive investment deal that had mysteriously collapsed two months ago. Daniel had been the lead broker. He had convinced his firm to invest heavily into an offshore logistics company, promising massive returns.
But the logistics company had vanished overnight, taking all the money with it. Daniel’s firm had written it off as a catastrophic loss, and Daniel’s reputation had taken a massive hit. He had spent the last two months working eighty-hour weeks trying to salvage his career.
He hadn't lost the money. He had been set up. The logistics company wasn't a legitimate business; it was a money-laundering front for a criminal syndicate. And they didn't care about his firm’s insurance policies. They wanted their money back, and they held Daniel personally responsible.
But how did they get the GPS tracker on his car? How did they know the exact layout of his personal life?
Daniel’s blood ran cold. The syndicate needed an inside man to feed them information about the Vanguard project. They needed someone who had access to Daniel’s office, his schedule, and his private files.
Rachel.
Rachel had come back into his life right before the Vanguard deal was finalized. She had asked for his help with her late husband's "legal paperwork," which required her to sit in his office for hours at a time. She had access to his computer. She had access to his car keys when they had lunch. She had known exactly where Emma was, and she had purposefully called Daniel on Christmas Eve to distract him, ensuring he wouldn't be home when they made their move.
Emma hadn't been jealous of Rachel. Emma had suspected her. Emma had figured out the truth and tried to run to her ex-Marine brother for protection so Daniel wouldn't be caught in the crossfire.
“You idiot,” Daniel whispered to himself, burying his face in his hands. “You absolute, blind idiot.”
He grabbed the burner phone from the desk and typed a single reply to the anonymous email.
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“Where do we make the exchange?”
He didn't have three million dollars. But he had a gun in his desk drawer, and he was completely done playing by the rules.
