Chapter 3 - The Confrontation at the RitzBy 2:00 p.m., I was sitting in the rear cabin of my Maybach parked outside the private security gate of the St. Regis Residences in Manhattan.
I had spent four hours calling every private investigator, hospital administrator, and high-ranking police commander in New York. Every door was slammed in my face. The sheer, terrifying power of the Vance legal network had placed an impenetrable, airtight shield around Claire and my newborn twins.
Then my personal phone buzzed on the leather seat beside me.
It wasn't Claire.
It was Sienna.
I answered the call, my voice low, dangerous, and thick with white-hot, agonizing rage. "Sienna."
"Adrian! Oh my God, finally!" Sienna gasped through the speaker, her voice high, manic, and laced with frantic frustration. "Where are you?! Have you seen the news?! People are standing outside my penthouse in Miami with cameras! The reporters are calling my mother! You need to have your legal team issue a statement saying the penthouse was a legitimate corporate real estate investment!"
I took a slow, deep breath, letting the icy air fill my lungs.
"A corporate investment, Sienna?" I asked softly, my baritone dropping into a register that was deadlier than any scream.
"Yes! Tell them we were just discussing business!" Sienna whined, completely oblivious to the ruined, burning wreckage of my soul. "And Adrian... the furniture designers from Milan are waiting for the secondary wire transfer for the living room set! The bank said your private accounts are frozen! You need to fix this right now!"
"Where are you right now, Sienna?" I asked quietly.
"I'm at the penthouse in Miami, lying by the pool," she answered, annoyed. "When are you flying back?"
"I'm not flying back, Sienna," I revealed flatly, every word dropped like a slab of cold granite into the receiver. "And as of twenty minutes ago... my asset liquidators executed a full fraud revocation on the deed to that penthouse."
There was a sudden, freezing silence on the other end of the line.
"What... what did you say?" Sienna stammered, her voice cracking.
"You told me that if I left Miami to be with my wife while she gave birth to my children, I would know you didn't matter to me," I remembered softly, tears of self-hatred burning behind my eyelids. "You were right, Sienna. You don't matter. You never mattered. You were just an expensive mistake I bought to hide from my own empty life."
"Adrian! You can't revoke the deed! It's in my name!" she shrieked hysterically.
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"It was purchased using embezzled corporate trust funds, Sienna," I answered deadpan. "The federal marshals will be arriving at your pool in ten minutes to seize the property. Never call my number again."
I hung up the phone, threw it flat onto the floorboards, and smashed it beneath the heavy heel of my boot until the glass shattered into a thousand useless pieces.
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