He blinked. “What?”
“You really thought you could just use my fingerprint and steal everything I’ve worked for?”
His expression shifted. Wariness crept in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You took my fingerprint last night. While I was sedated. While I was grieving. You used it to transfer eighty-three thousand dollars to buy your mother a house.”
He studied me for a moment. Then, slowly, his expression changed.
The fake concern disappeared. What replaced it was something uglier. Triumphant.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I did.”
No denial. No apology. Just cold confirmation.
“And there’s nothing you can do about it,” he continued. “The transfers are done. The down payment is made. The house is in escrow.”
“Is it?” I asked quietly.
“Emma, don’t be stupid. Your fingerprint authorized everything. The bank processed it. It’s over.”
I opened my phone again. Pulled up a screen he didn’t know existed.
A security log I’d set up months ago. One that tracked every login attempt. Every device that accessed my accounts. Every transaction that required authorization.
Michael leaned forward, trying to see what I was looking at.
I turned the screen so he could read it clearly.
There it was. An unfamiliar device. Logged in at 1:11 AM. Location: St. Mary’s Hospital, Room 347.
Then the four transfers. All initiated within six minutes.
But there was one more detail. One critical piece of information that changed everything.
Transaction Status: PENDING VERIFICATION.
Michael’s face went pale. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I said calmly, “that you triggered the transfers. But they never completed.”
“That’s impossible. I used your fingerprint—”
“My fingerprint opens my phone. It starts the transfer process. But it doesn’t complete large transactions.”
His hand tightened around his coffee cup. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
I scrolled down to show him the security question that had been waiting for approval since 1:17 AM.
Large transfer detected. Please answer security question to proceed:
What is the name of the attorney who drafted your prenuptial agreement?
Michael stared at the screen. “We don’t have a prenup.”
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