Chapter 2Wiring Her Money Was His Habit

It had started on a crisp, sunlit Monday morning. I was in my glass-walled office, running risk models on a tech merger. In my six years at Orion Capital, my portfolios had generated over fifty million in pure profit. My projections were gospel.

"Morning, team. I'm Harper Montgomery. I'm the new Investment Manager, and I'm so thrilled to learn from all of you."

The boardroom doors had swung open, and she strolled in. She looked like she had stepped off a Pinterest board for 'quiet luxury.' A black tweed Chanel jacket, a vintage Patek Philippe on her delicate wrist, and red-soled pumps.

But the brands weren't what made the room stop. It was her face. She possessed that untouchable, poreless beauty of someone who had never known a day of real struggle. She radiated the intoxicating, dangerous energy of a girl who always got what she wanted.

Carter was at the head of the table. When his eyes landed on Harper, I saw something shift in his posture. A hunger. A spark I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

"Harper's resume speaks for itself," Carter said, his voice dropping an octave, smoothing out into something warm and velvety. "An MBA from Wharton, aggressive international portfolio experience. I have no doubt she’s going to shake things up around here."

After the meeting, Carter called me into his corner office—the office we had celebrated securing, the one decorated with a framed photo of us in Napa and the Montblanc pen I bought him when we hit our first million.

"So, Maddie. Thoughts on the new blood?"

He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the Chicago skyline. There was a thrum of electricity in his voice.

"She looks the part," I said honestly, sinking into the leather sofa. "But female intuition tells me she didn't take a mid-level job at our boutique firm just to crunch numbers."

Carter turned around, flashing a brilliant, boyish grin that made my stomach flip. "You're always so analytical. But you're right to be sharp. Her resume is pristine, and her family background... well, it's significant."

I brushed it off, too busy managing my own accounts to pry.

A week later, Carter pulled me into his office again. This time, he shut the door and clicked the blinds closed, pitching the room into conspiratorial shadows.

"Maddie, I have the holy grail," he said, practically vibrating with adrenaline. "The Apex Trust is restructuring. They're looking for a new external management team."

My heart did a violent stutter-step. The Apex Trust. It was a ten-billion-dollar fund. Landing that account would catapult us from a successful boutique firm to Wall Street royalty. It was the white whale we had been chasing for six years. It was the reason I had declined offers from Goldman and Morgan Stanley.

"Are we actually in the running?" I breathed, my hands suddenly clammy.

"Better than in the running." Carter leaned across his mahogany desk, his eyes wild. "Harper Montgomery is Richard Montgomery’s niece. The founder of the Apex Trust."

I stared at him. "So... she's here to..."

"Audit us." Carter grabbed my hands, his thumbs tracing my knuckles. "Maddie, she's her uncle's proxy. This is the golden ticket."

I was so blinded by the prospect of our shared dream coming true that I missed the red flags snapping in the wind.

"What's the play?" I asked.

Carter's gaze darkened into something intensely calculating. "We need a narrative. A dynamic. I need you to play the heavy. Be hard on her. Question her proposals, make her feel a little targeted."

I blinked. "Why?"

"Because then I can step in," he said smoothly. "I'll play the mediator. I'll defend her against the 'harsh, veteran executive.' Women like her—sheltered, trust-fund girls—they love a white knight. If I can make her feel protected, I win her trust. And if I win her trust, we get the fund."

I nodded slowly. It sounded manipulative, but corporate finance was a blood sport. "And then what?"

"Then we secure the bag, Maddie. We win." He kissed my forehead. "We're so close."

God, I was so naive. I thought we were writing a masterpiece together. I didn't realize he was just scripting my exit.