The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 139

Chapter 80-2

His gaze sharpens significantly, and for a fleeting second, I brace myself for him to tell me that I’m being completely unreasonable or overly dramatic. But instead of any of that happening, he lets out a quiet breath.

“You’re not wrong, baby. I do know almost everything that has shaped you into who you are today, and you know virtually nothing about what shaped me. Nothing at all, actually.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, the tightness in my chest easing just a fraction. “Thank you for saying that.”

“So,” he says, shifting his posture so he’s looking directly at me, his hand still resting possessively against my back. “What exactly do you want to know?”

The openness of the invitation catches me off guard, making me hesitate as I try to pick a thread to pull on. “You mean… literally anything?”

“Within reason,” he says.

“And there it is,” I sigh, leaning back slightly with a dry laugh. “My entire existence is an open book for you to read whenever you like, but you have entire chapters of your life marked as top-secret and confidential.”

“I spent years working in specialized sectors that I legally can’t discuss,” Locke explains patiently. “I’ve signed non-disclosure agreements with heavy penalties, and I have absolutely zero interest in being thrown into a federal prison.”

“For governments?” I ask, just taking a shot in the dark. “You worked for them?”

“Yes.”

I blink, letting that sit in the heavy air between us. “I remember you said you had an international background.”

“I do.”

“In my mind, that means that you cloud have audited boutique hotels in Switzerland.”

A tiny, genuine smile touches the corners of his lips. “I did not audit hotels in Switzerland, I assure you.”

“So… billionaires?”

“Several of them, yes.”

“Superyachts?”

“Unfortunately, far too many.”

I smile despite the heavy tone of the conversation, but the moment is cut short as a sharp, agonizing cramp ripples through my abdomen, causing me to gasp and press a hand tightly to my stomach.

Locke’s entire aura shifts instantly from relaxed conversation to hyper-vigilant concern, his eyes snapping to my face as he begins to push himself up off the pillows.

“Do you need the bucket?” he asks, his voice laced with immediate worry. “Or the medication?”

Chapter 20-2

“No.” I force out through gritted teeth. “Just give it a second.”

His jaw tightens visibly, but he carefully covers my hand with his own. He presses his palm flat against mine, transferring his heat directly into the sharp ache until the wave finally subsides.

Clam

“What I know,” I say, trying to reset the narrative. “Is that you’re an ex-professional forensic accountant with an international background, you’ve done classified work, and someone you cared for was hurt by a stalker.”

“That’s a pretty accurate summary of my life resume.”

“It’s barely an outline of a life, let alone a summary,” I counter, eyeing him closely. “So let’s start simple. Why forensic accounting? Out of all the paths in the world, why that?”

His expression undergoes a subtle shift. The rigid tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction, retreating to safer, more analytical territory. Work is something he can discuss logically, I know, divorced from raw emotion.

“Well, most high-level financial fraud is a puzzle,” he says. “People try to conceal a single criminal decision beneath tens of thousands of complex transactions, but no matter how clever they think they are, the original decision remains embedded in the system.”

“Because money always leaves footprints,” I say. “And you like puzzles.”

“Always, and I do,” he agrees, his focus sharpening as he warms to the subject. “False invoices generated by ghost entities. Payments intentionally divided into irregular sums to avoid mandatory reporting limits. International consulting firms with zero registered staff receiving millions in advisory fees. Transactions that repeat at the exact same time every month, with different amounts every time.”

“Like Knox’s network of shell companies,” I point out, the realization dawning on me.

“Exactly like Knox’s setup,” Locke says. “People operating in the shadows stupidly believe that layering complexity will conceal their fraud. In reality, every additional layer just generates twice as much evidence.”

“Where did you actually learn to spot those patterns?”

“College first, where I specialized in advanced financial forensics. After that, I was recruited directly into a high-profile international firm.”

I make a mental note to ask about college later. “And what did an international firm like that investigate?”

“High-stakes corporate fraud, massive embezzlement schemes, and sophisticated money laundering operations. We mostly worked with exceptionally wealthy private clients who wanted to recover stolen capital without publicly admitting to the press or shareholders that they’d been robbed.”

“Did you enjoy the work?” I ask softly.

“I enjoyed the puzzle part of work.”

“Conspicuously not the people involved, though?”

“I rarely enjoy people in general.”

“Well, now i feel exceptionally cherished,” ! poke at him with a faint smile.

“You’re a distinct exception to the rule,” he replies without a hint of hesitation, his eyes holding mine. “Very distinct.”

“The only one?” I tease him:

“One of a remarkably small handful.”

I reach out, my fingers tracing the dark lines of his tattooed forearm. “And that’s when the government eventually tracked you down?”

“A specialized intelligence department contracted our firm to consult on a complex financial intelligence case,” he explains. “They required a specific skill set.”

“What kind of intelligence case?”

“This is where if I tell you, I have to kill you.” Locke’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “But in general terms, extremist financing.”

My fingers go completely still against his arm. “You were tracking terrorist funding?”

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