Hundred Days with the Billionaire

POV: Mira

I was halfway through my third cup of coffee when Marcus kicked the door open like a SWAT official on a mission to arrest a kingpin, and slapped a stack of printouts on my table with such force that I almost jumped.

"Where is it?" he breathed.

"Where's what?" I asked, looking lost.

He looked me in the eye. "The twenty-three million dollars you stole."

"Wait, Marc, it's too early for a joke."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He flipped the pages to show me a bank statement with my name written boldly at the top. "Do you think you can just pocket twenty-three million without being discovered?"

My stomach twisted. "That's not my account. I've never seen that account before in my life."

"Really?" He flipped to the front page. "Because according to this, you opened it three months ago. And you've been funneling money into it ever since."

I laughed then. The kind of humorless laughter that comes out when your brain short-circuits.

I held up both palms. "Wait, so you think I'm smart enough to steal millions and after that, I'd be stupid enough to show up at work?" I leaned back in my chair casually. "C'mon, Marc, if I had that money, I'd be on a beach in Bali, not here explaining myself to you."

Marcus walked around my desk and got close enough that I could smell his cologne. He gave me such a death glare that I was sure he'd be spitting fire by now if he was a dragon.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said quietly. "You have seventy-two hours to return every penny. If you don't, I'm pressing charges. And before you think about running, let me be very clear." He leaned in with a devilish smile. "I have friends who specialize in debt collection. The kind who know exactly how much your organs are worth on the black market."

I got chills.

"You're insane."

"I'm a businessman, and clients are demanding their money." He stepped back, straightening his tie. "Seventy-two hours, Mira. After that, you better hope the police find you before my friends do."

His assistant peeped in. "Sir, the police are here."

That was when I realized it was serious. Or, was all of this part of some prank?

One of them cuffed me. "You are under arrest for embezzlement…" He continued reciting my rights as they led me downstairs towards their waiting vehicle.

At the station, I tried explaining to the detective but he wouldn't believe me.

He just pointed to the folder Marcus sent to them.

I opened the folder. It contained bank statements, transfer authorizations, and email threads I'd never written. The evidence was so perfect it could only be fake. Either that or I was the world's stupidest criminal.

"I didn't do this," I whispered.

"Ms. Hale, your digital signature is on every document."

"Someone forged this," I said. My voice sounded desperate even to my own ears.

I tried again. "Officer Rodriguez, let's be logical. If I stole millions like I'm being accused of, would I still look like this?" I gestured at my shitty blouse and overall appearance.

He stared at me pointedly, then showed me the last transaction. "You transferred everything to your boyfriend, who's now missing. A tactic to avert suspicion."

I opened my mouth in shock. So that was it. Jake told me he was going on a business trip but his goodbye kiss felt like a final farewell, and he was avoiding my eyes. I asked if he was sick or something else was wrong but he said everything was fine.

"He set me up," I concluded hastily.

The detective's expression didn't change. He'd heard it all before. The desperate claims of innocence by actual criminals.

"Do you have proof of this alleged forgery?"

"No, I just found out. I'll have to find evidence."

"Then I suggest you get a lawyer."

I called Mom first.

"Mom, it's me. I need you to listen carefully. I'm at the station right now and—"

"Sweetheart," she said, already crying before I'd finished explaining, "how could you do this to us? After everything we sacrificed?"

"Mom, I didn't."

"I warned you about that boy."

"Mom, please just listen."

"You need to accept responsibility for what you've done. You need to…" Her voice cracked. Like, this was my mother who rarely cried. "I told you Jake was wrong for you. I told you he was using you. But you didn't listen. Now he's corrupted you."

"I didn't do it, Mom."

"Stop lying!" Her voice went shrill. "Marcus sent the bank records. Your name is on everything, Mira. Everything!"

"Those records are fake—"

"No. You're the fake. The daughter I raised would never steal. Would never lie. Would never…" She stopped and took a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was ice. "Don't call this number again."

The line went dead.

I didn't have time to cry. I called my lawyer next.

Beverly arrived about forty-five minutes later. "Walk me through this," she said, clicking her pen like a tiny judge's gavel.

I told her the whole story about transfers I didn't make, the boyfriend who'd disappeared, and the offshore account I'd never heard of until today.

Beverly's expression grew more concerned as I talked.

"This is problematic," she said finally.

"Problematic meaning...?"

"Meaning unless we can prove someone else accessed your credentials, you'll be deemed guilty."

"But the evidence is fake," I argued with vehemence.

"Can you prove that?"

"No."

"Then you're screwed." She said it matter-of-factly, as if she was telling me the weather forecast. "The evidence is overwhelming, Mira. Your credentials, your signatures, your boyfriend running away with the money. Any jury will convict you in about ten minutes."

"So what do I do?"

"You either repay or we plead guilty. Marcus said he will drop the charges if he gets his money back."

I laughed. It came out broken. "I have seventeen hundred dollars in my savings account. Where would I get twenty-three million?"

"Had," she corrected. "They froze all your accounts already."

The room tilted. "They what?"

"Bank accounts, investment accounts, everything. It's frozen pending investigation." She paused. "They also repossessed your car. And your landlord called. You're being evicted."

I stared at her. "When?"

"You have twenty-four hours to clear out."

Twenty-four hours to pack up my life and Seventy-two hours to find twenty-three million I didn't steal.

"What happens if I can't pay?"

"Then you're looking at a serious jail term."

My laugh came out slightly unhinged.

"How serious?"

"Twenty years."

I broke out in a sweat.

Twenty years. I was twenty-eight. By the time I got out, I'd be forty-eight. My life would be over.

I panicked. "There has to be something—"

"I'll do what I can. But Mira?" Beverly's voice went soft, which was somehow worse than her professional briskness. "Start preparing for the worst."

She got me released on bail and I didn't bother going back to my apartment. I just kept walking without direction.

I didn't remember deciding to go to the beach, but when I got there, the beach was empty and it was dusk already. I removed my shoes and walked toward the water.

I thought about it again. In seventy-two hours, I'd be arrested. Or like Marcus threatened, my life would be over.

I decided it was better to end it here, and didn't stop walking as the water rose.

When the water reached my chest, I felt lighter than I had all day. No more defending myself to people who'd already concluded.

I took another step and the water climbed to my chin. Then I let my feet leave the bottom.

The current grabbed me immediately, yanking me sideways. A wave hit my face and I went under.

My lungs started burning but I told myself to let go. Drowning was cheaper than prison, and better than being hacked into pieces by organ harvesters.