My husband, the most feared mafia boss in the city

A financial commentator called me a potential liability.

A rival executive suggested that Ward Logistics needed “fresh leadership.”

Someone leaked a photograph of Adrien and me leaving a restaurant, presenting it as evidence that we were coordinating our stories.

The photograph had been taken six months earlier.

We had been celebrating my promotion.

I found the whole thing insulting.

Not because the photograph was private, but because the people using it assumed that a woman could not share dinner with her husband without secretly conspiring with him.

At ten, Mara Levin joined me in a secure conference room at Ward's headquarters.

She had reviewed the documents overnight.

“Victor's legal team has filed a demand for access to the original transaction records,” she said.

“Does he have a legitimate basis?”

“Possibly. The buyout agreement contains a records-access clause, but his request is broader than the clause permits.”

“Then we'll challenge the scope.”

“Already done.”

Mara opened her laptop.

“There is another problem. The financial records in the anonymous packet include a transfer from a company called Northstar Advisory.”

The name meant nothing to me.

“Who owns it?”

“That's what we're investigating. The company was registered through a corporate services firm. Its public filings identify a manager, but not the ultimate source of its funding.”

“Where did the transfer go?”

“To an account associated with a consulting firm that advised Moretti Maritime during the original buyout.”

I frowned.

“Which consulting firm?”

Mara turned the laptop toward me.

I read the name.

Then I read it again.

“That's impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because the firm dissolved eleven years ago.”

“Companies can dissolve and still have records. The question is whether those records were transferred or retained.”

I leaned forward.

“Who was the lead consultant?”

Mara brought up another document.

The name appeared at the bottom of a scanned invoice.

Peter Lang.

My stomach tightened.

Peter had been Adrien's former chief financial strategist.

He had left Moretti Maritime shortly after the buyout and moved to Chicago. Adrien had once described him as the smartest man in a room who was always looking for a second room where he could be smarter.

They had not spoken in years.

“Does Adrien know?” I asked.

“I haven't told him yet.”

“Neither have I.”

Mara closed the laptop.

“Before we accuse anyone, we need the original records.”

I spent the afternoon reviewing archived transaction indexes.

The original agreement had been prepared by outside counsel, approved by both parties, and stored in three locations: Moretti Maritime's legal archive, the bank's transaction archive, and a document repository maintained by the consulting firm.

The first archive contained an incomplete copy.

The second required a formal request.

The third was supposed to have been transferred to a successor company when the consulting firm dissolved.

But the successor company had no public contact information.

At six, I received an email from Daniel.

Found something. Call me.

I called immediately.

“I located an old backup of the transaction index,” he said. “Not the actual agreement, but the inventory of documents transferred to storage.”

“Does it identify Exhibit C-7?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“A supplemental schedule concerning a disputed shipping liability. It has nothing to do with the ownership transfer.”

“Who prepared it?”

There was a pause.

“Peter Lang.”

I closed my eyes.

“Was it included in the final agreement?”

“No. It was marked as superseded.”

“Can you send me the index?”

“Already sent it to Mara.”

I breathed out slowly.

That was the first solid piece of evidence we had.

The forged packet appeared to combine two separate documents: my legitimate acknowledgment and an outdated supplemental schedule.

Someone had taken material from different stages of the transaction and assembled it to create a false impression.

But why?

I called Adrien.

He answered on the first ring.

“I know about Peter,” he said.

“How?”

“Daniel called me.”

“What did you find?”

“Peter has been working with Victor for the last two years.”

The room seemed to grow colder.

“Doing what?”

“Advising a private investment group that has been buying interests in port-related businesses.”

“Are they legitimate?”

“Some of their investments are. Others are difficult to trace.”

I thought about the anonymous financial records.

“Could they be trying to influence the federal contract?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you have evidence?”

“Not yet.”

“Then we don't say it publicly.”

“I know.”

His answer was immediate, but I could hear the frustration beneath it.

“Adrien, listen to me. If Peter assembled the documents, we need to know who instructed him. If Victor is paying him, we need proof of the payments. And if someone inside Ward supplied confidential records, I need to know that too.”

“You think someone at your company is involved?”

“I think the packet contains information that shouldn't have been available outside a restricted archive.”

He was quiet.

Then he said, “I can send Daniel to help you.”

“No.”

“Elena—”

“I have my own investigation team.”

“I wasn't suggesting you couldn't handle it.”

“Then don't take over.”

Silence.

Finally, he said, “You're right.”

I softened.