Chapter 19 #2
When I finally make my body move, my legs feel like they don’t belong to me. Every step toward the elevator takes everything I have left.
The second the doors seal me in, I crumble. The tears come fast, blinding me. A jagged, ugly sob scrapes up my throat, filling the tight space. I press my hand hard against my heart, as if I can physically hold the pieces together.
He took everything from me. And now, he’s taken my dignity too.
Mark
“Let us do our job,” Michael says, his tone firm.
It’s a polite warning, but the subtext is clear: stay out of the way.
I raise my hands. “I get it. I’m not here to interfere. Just… to watch.”
He gives me a curt nod before turning away, heading for the elevator on the left with his team. He’s doing me a favor by letting me be here. As long as I don’t interfere with his job.
I take the other elevator, stepping in just as their doors close, and press the button for the 18th floor. When the doors slide open, I step out just in time to see them reach the apartment and knock.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then, the door opens.
She stands there. Barefoot, hair a mess, looking completely dazed. There’s none of that proud posture or curated elegance she wore in every photo the PI took months ago.
She looks… small. Diminished.
“Ms. Maya Fisher,” Michael says, his voice clipped and businesslike. “You’re under arrest for wire fraud, theft of trade secrets, and insider trading. We have a warrant.”
She blinks, stammering. “There must be some mistake—”
“There’s no mistake, ma’am. Please step aside.”
Michael and a second agent move past her, stepping into the apartment. The third agent reaches for her wrists.
“What are you doing?!” she gasps, recoiling. “You can’t just—there’s been a misunderstanding!”
He spins her around. The sharp click of the cuffs cuts through her panic as he begins reading her rights.
“Please—this has to be a mistake!” she insists again, her voice rising, breathless with panic now.
I lean against the wall at the end of the hallway, hands in my pockets, watching the show.
“No misunderstanding,” I murmur to myself. “Just sloppy work.”
Michael steps out of the apartment with the other agent, carrying sealed evidence bags—Maya’s phone, her laptop, and a stack of files.
He stops and drops a pair of flats at her feet.
“Put these on,” he says flatly. “We’re not waiting.”
They start guiding her toward the elevators, reciting the standard procedure.
She’s still pleading, her voice wavering as she demands a lawyer.
I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over the shutter button.
Just before they step into the elevator, I call out. Casual. Bright. “Hey, Maya!”
She freezes, snapping her head toward me.
“Smile.”
Her eyes widen, her mouth falls open—shock and pure disbelief painted across her face—and I capture it perfectly.
“Absolute cinema,” I whisper, checking the screen.
“Who the hell are you?!” she screams, just as the doors slide shut. Cutting off her voice with a heavy metallic thud.
I glance down at the photo, admiring the irony in every pixel. The panic. The ruin.
I laugh under my breath.
“The best friend of the woman you tried to destroy,” I say to the empty hallway. “And you didn’t even come close to breaking her.”
I stare at the closed elevator doors for a beat longer.
I’d kept my distance at first. I didn’t even try something as petty as bricking her laptop remotely. I told myself it wasn’t my place. Be fair, I thought. Colin was the one who broke his vows, not her.
But then she went after Cecily.
She hurt the kids.
That ridiculous article—the one that tried to paint her as some Shakespearean tragic heroine and twist everything into a sob story—that was the line.
I watched Alicia and Ethan cry that day, their whole world falling apart.
After that, she was fair game.
It didn’t take long to spot the pattern. Little things at first. Digital breadcrumbs only an amateur would leave behind. A few well-timed “anonymous tips.”
Then the trail got clearer—board meeting minutes, logistics emails, draft strategy decks, term sheets, memorandums of understanding, simplified forecast spreadsheets, email chains between executives, preliminary due diligence reports...
Everything always found its way into exactly the right inbox or the right hands. Just soon enough for a competitor to strike before Montgomery Clifford & Co. could.
Another win for the competition. Another loss for Montgomery Clifford.
And who was profiting on both ends?
Maya, of course.
She wasn’t reckless. She was careful. Calculated. She used every bit of access she still had.
The deals that slipped through their fingers, the acquisitions that mysteriously collapsed, the competitors that somehow arrived first—all filed under “market coincidence.”
Yeah, right.
Honestly, the entire IT department should’ve been fired. They did a piss-poor job of monitoring access logs.
Her credentials as Colin’s EA were still active even after she’d “changed departments.”
Amateur hour.
But here’s the thing about data: it never really disappears.
All I had to do was dig deep enough. Cross-check timelines. Compare internal losses to external gains.
I still can’t figure out if it was always part of her plan… or if she only did it so she could afford that ridiculous article.
I will never forget the look on Colin’s face when I showed him how much she paid to have it published—and where the money came from.
“What? Did you think people would be lining up to air your dirty laundry for free just because you’re rich, run a fancy company, and look decent in a suit?” I told him. “It’s not like you were having an affair with Shakira, Old Man.”
Now, after watching her being led away, wrists cuffed, shouting about misunderstandings. The irony isn’t lost on me.
She plotted. She built her trap.
And in the end, she’s the one caught in it.
I open my messaging app and pull up his contact—Old Man.
I attach the photo of Maya in handcuffs and type:
Thought you’d appreciate a reminder of what happens when you get sloppy. You’re welcome, btw.
Send.
Then I slip my phone back into my pocket, still smiling as I head toward the elevator.
This time, there’s no rush.
Justice, after all, is worth the wait.