The slap came so hard that for one strange second, I thought the crystal chandelier above the dining table had shattered. My head snapped to the side.

The forensic audit didn’t just reveal hidden money; it revealed a massive, gaping hole in Sloane Mercer’s entire identity.

I sat in my office late Thursday night, rubbing my temples as Vance, Arthur’s lead attorney, paced in front of my desk.

“We dug into the Cayman accounts, Claire,” Vance said, dropping a thick file onto the blueprints I was reviewing. “Sloane Mercer isn’t a legal consultant. She doesn’t even have a law degree.”

I looked up, stunned. “Evan said she consulted on the downtown rezoning project.”

“She’s a corporate spy,” Vance stated flatly. “And a very expensive one. We traced her employment history. Three years ago, she was involved with the CEO of Vanguard Properties. Six months later, Vanguard lost their biggest bids to Thorne Enterprises, and the CEO was ousted in a divorce scandal.”

My blood ran cold.

“Julian Thorne.”

“Exactly,” Vance nodded. “Thorne uses her to compromise rival executives, extract proprietary information, and then detonate their personal lives to force a corporate shakeup.”

I leaned back in my chair, the pieces suddenly falling into place with terrifying clarity.

Sloane hadn’t fallen in love with Evan. She had targeted him. The slap at Christmas dinner wasn’t just a loss of temper—it was a calculated move to force the scandal out into the open, hoping the Whitcomb family would implode.

And Julian Thorne had called me just days ago, offering a partnership. He was playing both sides of the chessboard.

“Does Evan know?” I asked.

“Evan is currently renting a penthouse downtown and buying her diamonds,” Vance sneered. “He’s completely blind.”

I stared at the file. Evan had betrayed me, humiliated me, and tried to ruin my life. A part of me wanted to let Sloane drain him dry and destroy his reputation permanently.

But this wasn't just about Evan anymore. If Sloane handed the Connecticut project secrets to Julian, Whitcomb Development would lose hundreds of millions. Arthur would blame me, and I would lose my leverage.

I picked up the file.

“Draft a non-disclosure trap,” I told Vance. “We are going to feed Sloane fake architectural data. And when she tries to sell it to Julian, we’ll have them both on federal corporate espionage charges.”

Vance smiled, a predatory grin.

“You play dirty, Claire.”