I sent a curt message to Roxanne, using an anonymous email. “Arthur Thorne’s study. Tonight. Alone. Or everything you’ve built here, and everything you’re about to steal, crumbles before you even leave Harmony Creek.”
She replied almost instantly, her rage barely concealed in the digital text: “Don’t you dare threaten me. I’ll see you in hell.”
But she agreed to the meeting. Her arrogance wouldn’t let her back down, and my words had clearly struck a nerve, hinting at her flight plans. She wanted to face me, to intimidate me one last time, to assert her dominance before she vanished.
I waited for her in Arthur Thorne’s study, the same room where I’d discovered the hidden ledger and calendar. It felt like the perfect stage for her downfall, surrounded by the ghosts of her deceit. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.
The front door opened and slammed shut. I heard her sharp footsteps approaching.
Roxy swept into the room, her eyes blazing, a predatory smirk playing on her lips. She was dressed impeccably, a stark contrast to the ugliness she exuded.
“So, the little soldier finally decided to show her hand,” she sneered, her gaze sweeping over me with contempt. “What pathetic fantasy have you cooked up now, Cassie? A few more lies for poor, gullible Elias?”
She walked to Arthur’s desk, resting her hand on it, as if staking her claim. “This house is mine, Cassandra. Your children will be out on the street by the end of the week. And Elias? He’s tired of your dramatics. He’s finally seeing you for the bitter, desperate woman you are.”
I remained calm, my military training allowing me to detach from her insults. I had a job to do.
“Sit down, Roxanne,” I said, my voice quiet, firm. “We have a lot to discuss.”
She laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound. “I don’t take orders from you. I’m done with your pathetic attempts to sabotage my life.”
I pulled a manila folder from behind my back and placed it on the desk. “Perhaps this will change your mind.”
Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease finally crossing her face.
“Inside,” I continued, “you’ll find the complete dossier from Marcus Bellweather. Old photos of ‘Roxie Mae Jensen.’ Forged identity documents. Detailed ledgers outlining the Riverside Ruby heist, and how you double-crossed your crew and vanished, leaving Marcus to take the fall.”
Roxy’s face tightened. Her smirk faltered.
“It also contains,” I pressed on, my voice like steel, “your new ledgers. The ones detailing your ‘investments’ with Jacob Stone and Thomas Gentry. The gambling debts. The loan-sharking arrangements. And how much you still owe them.”
Her eyes flickered to the folder, then back to me, a desperate calculation in their depths.
“And finally,” I said, pushing a single sheet of paper across the table. “DNA results. Confirming what Elias already suspected. Your two children… they are not his. Not even close to the Thorne family line.”
She snatched the DNA report, scanning it quickly. Her face drained of color, turning ashen. Elias had seen this. He knew.
“This is all rubbish!” she shrieked, her composure shattering. She lunged for the folder, snatching it from the desk. “Marcus is a liar! A vengeful ex-con! You think anyone will believe him?”
She tore at the papers, desperate, trying to destroy the evidence. She threw a handful of shredded documents at me. “I’ll have you evicted tonight! I’ll ruin you! Elias will never believe any of this!”
“He already has, Roxanne,” I countered, unmoved by her outburst. “He saw the DNA results. He remembers Lily’s words at the funeral. He’s put the pieces together.”
Roxy stopped, her hand frozen mid-air, a torn photo of her younger self clutched in her fist. The full weight of Elias’s betrayal, his realization, seemed to hit her then. She looked utterly lost, for the first time.
“You think this changes anything?” she hissed, regaining a sliver of her defiance. “These local lowlifes you’re talking about? They work for me! They’ll protect me! They’re loyal.”
“Loyal?” I asked, a faint smile playing on my lips. “To a woman who’s about to liquidate Arthur Thorne’s private trust fund and flee Harmony Creek, leaving them to cover her debts? Leaving them with nothing but your empty promises?”
Her eyes widened, a dawning horror creeping into them. She stared at me, her mind racing, trying to understand how I knew.
“I also have,” I said, tapping the desk, “the fake bank records you planted in my home office. The ones that would frame me for stealing that trust fund.”
Roxanne gasped, a guttural sound of pure terror. She couldn’t speak, her carefully constructed world crumbling around her, piece by agonizing piece.
“And those records, those details of your flight, and your past double-crosses?” I continued, my voice calm, devastatingly precise. “I’ve already shared them. Not with the police, Roxanne. With Jacob Stone. With Thomas Gentry. With all of your loyal ‘associates’ in Harmony Creek.”
Just then, a faint, almost imperceptible buzz vibrated across the quiet room. It was Roxy’s phone, tucked away in her purse on the desk. A blocked number. A single, ominous tone.
Her eyes darted to the phone, then to the window. The fear in her eyes was raw, palpable. She knew. She knew exactly what that tone meant. Her associates were here. Outside. Waiting.
She reached for her phone, her hand shaking violently. She looked at me, a desperate, animalistic plea in her eyes. “You… you wouldn’t.”
“They don’t like being played, Roxanne,” I stated, the final nail in her coffin. “And you, Roxie Mae Jensen, have been playing them for a very long time.”
Her face crumpled. Her carefully crafted world, built on lies and betrayal, had imploded. The criminal underworld she thought she controlled was now at her doorstep, ready to collect their due. And I, the bitter ex-wife, had orchestrated it all.
Roxy stared at the phone buzzing on the table, then at me. There was nothing left in her eyes but utter defeat. The silence in the study stretched, heavy with the weight of her undone life.
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