Chapter 1

As the heir to the Moretti family, I walked into our own bank with $20 million.

My father, Don Moretti, had always said every Moretti business had to go legitimate. I didn't want to make a scene, either, so I came without an entourage.

I waited in line for half an hour. Just as it was finally my turn, client relationship manager Vanessa cut in front of me with someone else.

I told her there was a line.

She sneered instead. “My husband, Julian Reed, runs this bank. My VIP clients get priority. If you don't like it, get out.”

I froze. Julian was my husband. Since when had he become hers?

I called Julian on the spot and asked when he'd given Vanessa that kind of authority.

All he said was, “Her client is important. Don't embarrass her in public.”

Then he hung up.

Vanessa slapped a new number ticket against me.

“Get out and take another number.”

I tore the ticket in half and headed for Julian's office.

I wanted to see for myself.

Inside a bank owned by the Moretti Family, who exactly did these people think was in charge?

...

Vanessa caught up and grabbed my arm.

“Do you not understand plain English?”

“That's my husband's office. What do you think you're doing going in there?”

“Planning to complain about me? No one here is going to take your complaint.”

Her fingers dug in hard.

I jerked my arm free.

“I don't care what kind of relationship you have with your boss. Not yet.”

“But you don't have the right to stop a customer from filing a complaint.”

I pushed open the office door.

The next second, I stopped cold.

Julian wasn't there.

But a pair of women's heels sat in his office.

A silk scarf was draped over the arm of the sofa.

A full set of skincare products stood beside the bathroom door.

There was even a black lace bra hanging behind his office chair.

This didn't look like an office.

It looked like a bedroom the two of them had been sharing for a long time.

Vanessa stood behind me and folded her arms.

“Seen enough?”

“My husband isn't here. Now get the hell out.”

The employees outside heard the commotion and started peeking in.

“Who is she? How dare she barge into Mr. Reed's office?”

“She comes in here asking for service and still acts that arrogant? If she pisses Vanessa off, Vanessa really can get her account shut down.”

“Mr. Reed said it himself. In this branch, Vanessa's decision is his decision.”

I turned to look at them.

“She's a client relationship manager. What authority does she have to throw a customer out?”

Several people immediately looked away.

But the client Vanessa had cut the line for, Mrs. Diane, laughed out loud.

“Why pretend you don't understand?”

“Vanessa is about to become Mr. Reed's wife. A man wants to spoil his woman a little, so what if he gives her some authority?”

Vanessa nudged her with fake shyness.

“Don't say that.”

“What if certain women hear Julian has money and status and deliberately come after him?”

Diane looked me over again.

“Her?”

“Julian gave you the newest Porsche 911 Turbo S for your birthday.”

“Everything she's wearing put together probably couldn't buy one tire.”

A chorus of envious agreement rose around us.

My blood turned cold.

A few months earlier, Julian had charged $230,000 to the group's executive expense account.

He'd told me it was a business vehicle arranged to win over an important client.

I'd believed him.

I'd even personally explained the unusual expense to my father for him.

There had never been any client.

He'd used Moretti Family money to buy his mistress a birthday present.

Vanessa swept my handbag off the desk and onto the floor.

“What are you standing there for?”

“Don't waste Ms. Diane's time on her $250,000 transaction. Her time is worth more than yours.”

Diane rammed her shoulder into mine and sat down at the counter.

“If you don't have money, you should learn how to wait.”

I suddenly laughed.

I pulled the wire authorization form and appointment confirmation out of my folder.

Then I slammed them down on the counter.

“I'm transferring in $20 million.”

I watched both their faces freeze.

“Now tell me.”

“Does her $250,000 still come before me?”