The Harrison-Vane building looked different in the daylight. At 8:30 AM, it was a hive of sleek suits, clinking ceramic coffee mugs, and forced networking. Usually, Clara thrived on the electric hum of the morning rush. Today, the noise just gave her a headache.
She sat at her mahogany desk, staring at the empty space near her keyboard. It was exactly where Arthur usually left her food. Last night, he'd left it outside the door.
I knocked, but the blinds were drawn...
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She hadn't slept. Every time Arthur shifted in bed, her heart had hammered against her ribs, waiting for the accusation. But he just snored softly, wrapped in the duvet, completely oblivious. Or completely indifferent.
The door swung open without a knock. David walked in. He looked impossibly crisp in a navy Tom Ford suit, holding two paper cups from the artisan café downstairs.
"Morning," he said, pushing the door shut with his heel. He set a cup in front of her. "Oat milk flat white. Extra hot."
Clara didn't reach for it. "Arthur brought me dinner last night."
David paused, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Okay. And?"
"And he left it outside the door. He said he knocked." Clara lowered her voice, leaning over the desk. "David, what if he heard something?"
A slow, patronizing smile spread across David's face. He leaned over the desk, invading her space, smelling like sandalwood and expensive dry-cleaning. "Clara. If the guy heard his wife getting bent over her desk, he wouldn't politely leave a bag of noodles on the floor and go home to fix routers. He would have lost his mind."
"You don't know him. He internalizes everything."
"He's a beta," David said flatly, pulling back. "He's terrified of conflict. And more importantly, he's terrified of losing you. Even if he suspected something, he wouldn't say a word. Now drink your coffee. We have the Gallagher pitch at noon, and I need you sharp. You're taking them to Del Frisco's afterward."
Clara exhaled a long, shaky breath. David was right. Arthur was dependable, but he wasn't brave. "Del Frisco's," she repeated, nodding. "Right. I'll get the reservation."
Fifteen miles away, Arthur was sitting on a folding chair in the server room of a mid-sized logistics firm. The ambient temperature was sixty-two degrees, and the roaring fans of the server racks drowned out the rest of the world.
He had a ham and cheese sandwich in one hand and his phone in the other.
He wasn't hacking. He wasn't doing anything illegal. He was simply doing some routine financial housekeeping on his lunch break.
Arthur opened the Chase banking app. FaceID logged him in instantly.
He tapped on the Chase Sapphire Reserve credit card. It was the card Clara used for everything—clothes, Ubers, and most importantly, wooing clients. The company reimbursed her later, but she needed the high limit to float the expenses.
Arthur was the primary account holder. He'd applied for it years ago because his credit score was 800, while Clara's had been wrecked by student loans and unpaid parking tickets before they met.
He tapped 'Account Services'. Then, 'Card Controls'.
He didn't freeze the card. A frozen card sends an immediate text alert. That was too obvious.
Instead, he tapped 'Spending Limits'.
With a few quick taps of his thumb, he adjusted the daily spending limit on the authorized user card—Clara's card. He deleted the $15,000 ceiling. He typed in a new number.
$50.00.
He hit 'Save'. A little green checkmark appeared. Preferences updated.
Next, he went to the joint checking account. He canceled the automatic payment for her Equinox gym membership. Then, he canceled the autopay for her leased BMW. It wouldn't hurt her today, but in about fourteen days, the late fees and emails would start rolling in. A slow, bureaucratic bleed.
Arthur took a bite of his sandwich. It tasted like cardboard, but he chewed it methodically anyway.
He looked at the clock on his phone. 11:45 AM.
Clara had texted him an hour ago: Taking the Gallagher reps to Del Frisco's for a steak lunch! Wish me luck on the pitch! Love you.
Arthur wiped a crumb off his jeans, picked up his phone, and typed back: Knock 'em dead. So proud of you.
He set the phone down on the server rack. Now, all he had to do was wait for the bill to arrive at Del Frisco's.