Chapter 3 - The Confrontation in GreenwichThe Greenwich estate sat on thirty acres of manicured rolling hills, an eighty-million-dollar French limestone mansion that I had purchased three years ago as a weekend sanctuary for Meline and me.
When my black SUV tore up the gravel driveway at 4:00 p.m., the front gates were wide open. Two luxury moving vans were parked near the portico, workers unloading Italian leather sofas and modern artwork.
Standing on the grand stone steps was my chief assistant of ten years, Bernard, holding an iPad and a glass of sparkling water. Beside him stood Elena, wearing a cashmere cream sweater that looked sickeningly similar to the maternity dress Meline had worn six days ago.
When I stepped out of the vehicle, Elena smiled brightly, stepping down the stairs toward me with open arms. "Damen! Look at what they've done with the foyer! It looks so much brighter without Meline's old antique mirrors—"
I didn't slow my stride.
As she reached out to wrap her arms around my neck, I grabbed her wrist with an iron grip and shoved her back three paces.
Elena gasped, stumbling against the stone balustrade, her eyes wide with shock. "Damen?! What is wrong with you?!"
"Bernard," I said, my voice dangerously soft, not even looking at her.
Bernard swallowed hard, stepping back toward the doorway, his knuckles turning white over his iPad. "M-Mr. Vance... sir, I can explain—"
"Did you instruct the Upper East Side doorman to give Elena my private access code six nights ago?" I asked.
"Sir, Miss Courtland said she was delivering urgent board documents regarding the Courtland Fund—"
"Did you tell me Meline was stable while she was lying in an ICU after a emergency C-section?" I took three heavy steps up the stairs toward him.
Bernard’s face drained of every drop of color. "I... I was trying to protect the company's stock price, Damen! The Courtland merger was forty-eight hours away from closing! If the press found out about a domestic dispute at your residence—"
"My son died, Bernard!" I roared, the sound exploding across the manicured estate like a thunderclap.
Workers on the driveway froze. Moving crates clattered against the stone.
"My son took his first and last breath in an emergency room while you were intercepting hospital calls!" I grabbed Bernard by his silk tie, lifting him six inches off his feet, driving his back against the limestone wall. "You lied to me for six days!"
"Damen! Stop it!" Elena shrieked, rushing up the steps, pulling at my suit jacket. "He was doing what I asked him to do! Meline was a nobody! She was a quiet, boring schoolteacher who didn't fit into your world anymore! She was going to ruin your career with her pathetic demands!"
I let go of Bernard, letting him collapse onto the stone steps coughing and gasping for air.
I slowly turned to face Elena Courtland.
She stood tall, her chin raised, her eyes flashing with spoiled, unyielding arrogance. She didn't look remorseful. She looked annoyed that her grand presentation had been interrupted.
"She was carrying my heir, Elena," I whispered, every word carved from raw, unyielding iron. "And you pushed her down a flight of stairs."
Elena’s eyes twitched. A faint flicker of panic crossed her face, but she quickly covered it with a cold, dismissive sneer. "It was an accident! She grabbed my coat! She tripped over her own feet! Besides, she was weak, Damen. The doctor said her placenta was already compromised—"
"The police report is filed, Elena," I cut her off. "The 19th Precinct has opened a felony assault and manslaughter investigation as of two hours ago."
Elena let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "Are you insane?! My father owns half the district attorneys in Manhattan! No officer is going to touch an indictment signed against a Courtland over some middle-class girl's failed pregnancy!"
"Your father's hedge fund holds thirty percent of Vance Medical's short debt," I replied cleanly, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the screen twice. "Which is why, five minutes ago, I authorized a complete public disclosure of Vance Medical's clinical patents to the Federal Trade Commission."
Elena went completely still. "What... what did you just say?"
"I tanked the merger, Elena," I said softly. "By morning, Vance Medical shares will drop fifty percent. Your father's hedge fund will lose two billion dollars in margin calls before the opening bell. You aren't an investor's brilliant daughter anymore. You are the woman who ruined the Courtland family fortune in an afternoon."
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"Damen... no..." Elena stammered, her face turning as pale as ash as her phone began to ring frantically with her father's caller ID. "Damen, please! You can't do this to us! We were going to build an empire!"
"Get off my property," I commanded, turning my back on her as Marcus and six armed security guards stepped up the driveway, blocking her path to the house. "If I ever see your face, your father's face, or Bernard again... I will make sure the grand jury hands down a first-degree murder charge."
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