Chapter Twenty-Three
Thursday afternoon
Nathan
I grip the steering wheel too tightly, the Dallas skyline a blur beyond the windshield. My mind refuses to settle after what we just discovered in Quinn’s office. Spyware. Hidden on her laptop for a damn year. Installed right before the NorthStar leak.
Everything I thought I knew has been turned more upside down than I could’ve ever imagined.
“What about that bar, the Brick?” Quinn says after a long silence. “Would it be quiet at this time of day?”
I nod. “It would. Good idea. And Ian will give us the space we need.”
I change lanes to head toward the bar. Neither of us speaks for the rest of the five-minute drive.
The weight of what I’ve done to her hits me all over again as we walk inside. For an entire year, I’ve shut her out. Blamed her. Said awful things to her.
Ian looks up from behind the bar, surprise crossing his face at seeing us together, but he doesn’t comment. Just nods toward a secluded booth in the back.
“I’ll send someone over,” he calls as we make our way through the near-empty room.
“At least we know no one’s listening here,” she says as we settle into the booth, her face a careful mask. “Bethany always said this place looked like a ‘crappy hole in the wall.’”
Another reason to hate this bitch. I’ll be even happier when she’s behind bars.
“Perfect.” A server approaches a few moments later. After ordering, the weight of the morning’s discovery hangs between us. Quinn finally breaks the silence.
“You’re right, we can’t confirm if Bethany is behind all of this unless we set a trap,” she says, all business. No accusations, no blame. Just forward motion. I can’t remember the last time it was like this, other than before I destroyed our life together over my ego and a false assumption.
I don’t think I even deserve her after everything I’ve done.
I might not. But the least I can do is try to right this terrible wrong. I find myself grateful for her focus. “Agreed. What we found would be admissible in court, but not enough to pin her down with charges.”
“We can’t wait on this, can we?” Quinn sounds like she’s asking this, yet her expression makes me think she already knows the answer.
I shake my head. “Right now, we have her thinking we’re on a wild-goose chase, trying to find the leak. That’s an advantage. But we can’t stay there for long.” I lean in closer, lowering my voice despite the empty tables around us. “We need to do this sooner rather than later. Tonight is probably most ideal. The sooner we stop her, the safer everyone will be.”
Quinn taps her fingers against the table. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. Okay, what’s your plan?”
“Hear me out, but I was thinking we could use you as bait.”
“Bait? How?”
“You two have beef, right?”
“Yeah…” She’s looking at me with uncertainty.
“And from what we’ve figured out, her attacks seem to be only at you. Is that correct?”
“As far as I know. What’s your point?”
“My point is, we give her an opportunity to get close to you again.”
“How so?”
“You call her and invite her to dinner tonight. Say you want to bury the hatchet. Make her think you’re none the wiser and sound desperate, like you’re struggling without her.”
She slowly nods in understanding. “What makes you think she’ll say yes? Bethany hardly does anything without some valid reason.”
“Oh, we’ll give her one. Before you call her, you’ll wipe your old laptop clean. If I do it, she might get spooked. This should trigger an alarm on her end. And when she realizes she no longer has access to you via spyware?—”
“I call her, she’ll see my invitation as the perfect opportunity to install it again in my new computer.”
“Exactly,” I say with a small smile.
“But how can she do that if we’re at dinner? I don’t think I’d be bringing my new laptop there.”
“That’s the thing. In reality, there will be no dinner.”
She looks confused again. “Huh?”
I continue. “When you’re on the phone with her, give her the address to your new office and ask her to carpool with you.”
“I don’t know if she’ll take that bait. She could see that as going into some kind of lion’s den.”
“That didn’t stop her from installing the spyware in the first place. If we disconnect you from her, and she’s as desperate as I think she’ll be to get it back online, she’ll do as you ask.”
“But how does that catch her in the act?”
“Have her come into your office on her own and start chitchatting. Give it a few minutes, and excuse yourself for a fake call. You’ll need to leave her alone with your computer.”
“That’s great and all, but how do we catch her doing that?”
“We’ll have a hidden camera capturing everything before she arrives. So when you leave to take your ‘phone call,’ we’ll give her a good window of opportunity to strike. And when she does, the camera will be facing your computer, so it’ll capture everything she’s doing on your laptop.”
“And if she’s suspicious?”
I tap my phone. “Then we wait. Monitor. She’ll try something eventually.”
Quinn stares at me hard. “But yesterday, you were ready to crucify me. What’s changed? Why are you willing to go to these lengths for me?”
The question is hard to hear. There are several reasons why. Business, pride, ego, and maybe… Love takes over most of them. But I settle on a simple answer to give her instead. “Like you, I need the truth to come out once and for all. I need to know for sure.”
She studies me a moment longer, then glances down at her hands before bringing her gaze back up to me. “Where will you be when she arrives?”
“I’ll be watching everything from the parking lot the moment she sets foot in your office.”
She pauses. “Say it works. That we get her. What do we do in that moment?”
“We confront her together. I’ll let you do the talking if you’d like since this hits closer to home for you.”
Her eyes flash with determination. “Let’s nail this bitch.”
Quinn’s office
Quinn
“Remember, we need to act normal in case she’s listening. Stay on script,” Nathan says in a low voice behind me as I unlock my office door.
Before I open the door, I turn to Nathan. “Be sure to park in the back of the building. If she comes, she won’t see you when she pulls into the parking lot.”
“Got it! And while you’re doing your thing, and we get whatever other evidence we need, I’ll send it to my head of security. He knows a guy in law enforcement.”
We’ve been back at my office for only a few minutes, and already the tension of what we’re about to do fills the room. The plan we meticulously crafted at the Brick is about to go into motion, and my heart is racing. My anxiety is through the roof, but my determination is what’s keeping me going.
“Right,” I agree, projecting my voice at a natural volume. “So we should check the venue’s lighting one more time before finalization?”
Nathan picks up the thread smoothly. “Good idea. And Jonathan mentioned wanting more ambient lighting for the reception.” His hands continue typing on my old laptop, his actual work completely different from our spoken conversation.
On his phone screen, he shows me what he’s really doing: systematically backing up the last of the essential files and preparing to wipe the spyware-infected system. His efficiency reminds me of the man I used to know—focused, determined, protective.
A year’s worth of anger, hurt, and helplessness bubbles up inside me as I watch him work. The devastation when he first accused me. The photos of him with other women plastered all over social media, meant to hurt me. The clients who suddenly questioned my integrity. The career I’d spent so long building, nearly destroyed overnight.
And now comes the sickening realization that Bethany might have orchestrated all of it. My former business partner—the woman I thought was my friend, who then turned thorn in my side until we went our separate ways—might have deliberately been sabotaging not just my business, but my personal life, too.
“Could you hand me that folder?” I ask, pointing to a stack of papers while actually sliding my phone toward him with the Notes app open.
When should I call her?
He passes me the folder, casually turning my phone to type a response but doing so where the phone isn’t in the webcam’s view.
After you wipe the system, give her about 30 minutes to notice something’s wrong. There might be a chance she calls first.
The end of the hour passes in this careful dance—maintaining our cover conversation about wedding preparations while methodically preparing for what comes next. Nathan installs a small program on my old laptop, explaining in typed notes that it will appear to be running normally from Bethany’s end but will actually be wiping all the spyware connections. That by the time it’s all gone, the notification for her that something’s wrong will have come too late.
“That should do it,” he says after finishing, looking at his watch. “I need to check in with Jonathan about the bachelor party. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
This is part of our plan—his exit giving me space to make the call without his presence potentially making me nervous. Before he leaves, he slides his phone toward me one last time.
To wipe the laptop, all you have to do now is click the red button. Once you do that, wait 30 minutes. Remember to sound desperate.
After he’s gone, I take a deep breath and stare at my laptop screen. The program window waits for my command—a simple button could expose either Bethany’s betrayal, or lead to a dead end. My finger hovers over the mouse, a strange sense of power washing over me. For a year, she’s been creepily watching me, violating my privacy, using my own words against me.
Who the hell does that?
With one click, I can cut that connection and start working on getting my life back.
I press the button.
The program runs silently, a progress bar the only indication that anything is happening. When it completes, a simple message appears: System reset complete.
I imagine across town, Bethany’s monitoring software is showing a connection error, the panic she’s probably going through wondering what happened or how to get the connection back.
And now I wait.
This all feels anticlimactic for such a significant moment but also deeply satisfying. The first step in reclaiming what’s mine.
I spend the next twenty minutes preparing myself mentally for the performance of my life, rehearsing what I’ll say, how I’ll sound. The anger I’ve felt toward her shifts into something colder, more calculating. If she’s behind all this, then she deserves what’s coming.
When thirty minutes pass, I take a deep breath and pick up my phone. My finger hovers over Bethany’s contact when suddenly it vibrates in my hand, her name flashing across the screen.
My pulse jumps. She’s calling me? The tables have turned so quickly, I’m momentarily thrown off balance.
I let it ring twice more to collect myself, then answer with carefully crafted hesitation. “Bethany?”
“Quinn, sweetie!” Her voice drops with saccharine warmth that doesn’t quite mask the steel underneath. “I was just wondering how you were doing. How have things been?”
Of course, she’s asking how I am—she just lost her digital window into my life. But as much as I want to rip her head off, I have to bite my tongue. Thank god she can’t see my face anymore.
“Really?” I manage to sound surprised. “That’s…weird timing. I was about to call you.”
“Oh, my god, that is so crazy.” Her laugh tinkles like glass breaking. “Great minds and all that, right? So what’s going on with you, hon? Everything okay in Quinn-land?”
Her affected concern makes my skin crawl, but I push through it.
“Actually, no. Things aren’t great,” I admit, injecting a wistful tone into my voice. “This is going to sound corny, but…I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately.”
“Oh?” The curiosity in her voice is unmistakable.
I take a deep breath, committing fully to the performance. “Look, I know things ended…messily between us. And I’ve done a lot of soul-searching over the past few months since we decided to split.” I pause, letting a vulnerable sniffle seep into my voice. “I miss our friendship, Bethany. When my laptop died today, you were the first person I wanted to call, and that made me realize something.”
“And what’s that, sweetie?” Her voice has that edge of triumph she never could quite disguise.
“Just because our business relationship ended doesn’t mean our friendship has to die along with it.” I might be laying it on thick, but I’m amazed at how sincere I sound despite the bile rising in my throat. “We were friends before we were partners, remember? Those Saturday brunches where we’d laugh until we cried, the way you always knew when I needed chocolate after a tough day… I miss having someone who gets me like that.”
A weighted silence stretches between us. I hold my breath, wondering if she’s seeing through my act. The pause lasts just long enough to make me nervous.
“Quinn,” she finally says, her voice softening with practiced sympathy, “I’ve missed you too. I was just saying to Mercer the other day how sometimes business gets in the way of the relationships that truly matter.”
Her lie is so transparent I nearly laugh. Last he’d posted on social media, she and Mercer broke up months ago and he already replaced her with some redhead. One of the few pieces of news that brought me genuine joy over the past year.
“Really?” I inject hope into my voice. “So you think maybe we could… I don’t know, start over? As friends?”
“I would love nothing more,” she coos, the predator sensing weakness. “We have too much history to just throw it all away over a business disagreement.”
Business disagreement. As if she hadn’t methodically dismantled everything I’d built.
The audacity of this cunt.
“That means so much to me,” I say. “Maybe we could meet? Talk things through in person?”
“Absolutely! When were you thinking?”
“Tonight? Around seven?” I suggest, keeping my voice appropriately eager. “I was thinking Marcello’s. For old times’ sake.”
“Marcello’s!” She sounds delighted. “Didn’t we close that Anderson deal there? Such good memories.”
“We did,” I confirm, thinking of how she took credit for my work that night. “Actually, could you meet me at my office first? I’d love to show you my new space, and we could ride together.”
“New office?” Her voice perks up with unmistakable interest. “Do tell.”
I give her the address, feeling a shiver of satisfaction when she agrees with suspicious eagerness.
“Perfect. I’ll be there at seven sharp. Oh, and Quinn?” Her voice drops to a soft whisper. “I’m so glad we talked. I’ve felt this…distance between us for too long. It’ll be good to reconnect.”
Yeah? And it’ll feel good to see you perp-walked.
“Thanks, Bethany. I really appreciate it.”
“That’s what friends are for!” she chirps with such artificial brightness it’s almost comical. “See you soon, sweetie!”
When the call ends, I let out a long breath. Even that brief conversation has left me feeling like I need a very large glass of wine.
A few moments later, Nathan enters my office. I greet him with an excited smile. “She bought it!”
“Perfect!” He seems as relieved as I feel.
“And you want to know the best part? She called me first.” I let out a loud laugh. “And she’s probably thinking I’m clowning right now.”
“No kiddin’. When is she coming?”
“Seven. Using the friendship angle totally hooked her in.” I continue to celebrate my victory. Bethany had always liked to show how much smarter she was than me, every chance she got. But not this time. This time, the joke will be on her.
“You did great! This went even better than expected. So now we have about two hours to set up the office the way we need to.”
We spend the next hour clearing my office of anything personal or sensitive, leaving only my new laptop on the desk as though it was on display like good bait. I store my old one in the back of my car. After that, Nathan has his very attractive head of security, Scott, come over, lending us a tiny but powerful camera. Before leaving and wishing us luck, he helps Nathan install it in just the right place. Obscured enough to where it can’t be spotted too easily, but just visible enough to capture the exact picture that we need.
With the last remaining hour, we go over our plan several times before we’re both satisfied, from the kind of small talk I’ll make to the excuse I’ll use to step out and leave her alone with my computer.
“What if she doesn’t try anything?” I ask, voicing my biggest concern.
“Then we wait,” Nathan replies, his confidence unwavering. “But she will. People like her can’t resist the opportunity. Especially when they’ve already gotten away with it once.”
At fifteen to seven, Nathan gathers his stuff. “I’ll head to the parking lot now. Remember, Quinn—no matter what she says, or what happens, stay calm. We need her to feel comfortable enough to be bold and make a move.”
“I will,” I promise, suddenly hesitating when he’s at the door. “Nathan…thank you. For believing me now.”
A complex expression crosses his face. I can’t tell if it’s regret, determination, or something softer I can’t quite name. “We’ll make this right,” he says simply.
He then exits with keys in hand, headed to prepare the final stages of our trap.
I quickly walk back to my desk, sitting in my office chair. As I wait, a storm of emotions churn inside me. This isn’t just about proving my innocence professionally anymore. It’s personal.
All those nights I spent crying, questioning everything, even my very existence, wondering how I could have lost Nathan so completely…but now I don’t have to anymore. Now, I can focus on getting justice. After that? I’ll have to figure what that will mean for my relationship with Nathan. Foolishly, I’m still in love with him, yet I don’t know if I can trust he won’t abandon me like he did.
Maybe that’s something he’d be willing to talk through with me.
But that’s only assuming he still feels the same about me too.
At five minutes before seven, I stand right beside the main door of the building. I then check my phone one last time—a text from Nathan confirms the camera is on and recording and he’s in position in his car. His presence nearby steadies me. Whatever happens next, I know I’m not facing it alone this time.
When Bethany walks through the door at two minutes before seven, a visceral reaction surges through me—anger, disgust. I see her now with new eyes.
Same sleek platinum blond bob, same calculating eyes, same perfect posture that always made me feel slightly inadequate. But now I can see the snake that lurks underneath that polished exterior.
“Quinn,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You look…tired.”
I swallow the impulse to tell her exactly why I’ve been tired for the past year. Instead, I force a self-deprecating laugh and slip into the role I’ve prepared. It feels stifling, toxic, fake, and not me. “That’s what adjusting to solo life will do to you. Thanks for coming.” My voice comes out exactly right—a touch wistful, just vulnerable enough to be convincing.
As I lead her to my open office, memories flash through my mind: Bethany suggesting I take that weekend off for my cousin’s wedding. Bethany insisting on handling our tech setup. Bethany slowly questioning my judgment before and after the NorthStar leak, sowing seeds of doubt with our shared clients. All those coincidences now connecting into a pattern I was too trusting to see.
My heart pounds. Not with fear, but determination. I’m at ease knowing Nathan is watching through the camera, waiting.
Please make my year, and let me catch you red-handed. I dare you.