Chapter 2 - The Audit of the Locked PenthouseBy 2:00 AM, the top-floor executive suite at The Lexington Apartments—where my mistress Vanessa Crane was being held under tactical guard by my driver Theo Grant—was operating under an impenetrable, non-negotiable lockdown.
Outside the reinforced double doors, four armed Vance Security operators stood guard. Inside, Vanessa Crane sat on a velvet sofa wearing her silver party dress under her black coat, her manicured fingers shaking violently around a glass of untouched scotch.
BOOM!
The heavy oak entrance doors were thrown open with a violent, hydraulic impact!
I stepped into the penthouse, flanked by Marcus Vance and Senior Corporate Prosecutor Bridget Colton.
Vanessa sprang from the sofa, her face pale, her dark eyes frantic with manipulative panic.
"Vincent!" Vanessa cried, taking two steps toward me, her hands reaching for my lapels. "Thank God you're here! Your driver has been keeping me hostage in this apartment! I was only trying to comfort you at the hospital—"
I didn't utter a single word.
I simply raised my right hand, catching her wrist in mid-air, holding her firmly three feet away from my chest. My storm-gray eyes locked onto hers with an icy, terrifying detachment that stripped away every defense she possessed.
Bridget Colton stepped forward, sliding three heavy, red-sealed leather binders flat onto the glass coffee table:
THE TOXICOLOGY & PURCHASING PROTOCOL: Pharmacy logs from a private clinic in Geneva proving Vanessa Crane personally purchased the synthetic sedatives used in Claire's poisoning.
THE WIRE COMMUNICATIONS: Intercepted audio files from 1:45 AM capturing Vanessa telling Richard Sterling: "She's dead. Vincent is broken. Have the proxy papers ready for the 10:00 AM meeting."
THE ASSET FORFEITURE INDICTMENT: Certified court orders seizing all offshore accounts, penthouse leases, and luxury vehicles registered under Vanessa Crane's name.
Vanessa dropped her glass.
CRASH!
The crystal glass shattered flat against the hardwood floorboards, amber scotch splashing over her designer heels. Her face went from manipulative red to an ugly, paper-white shade of green.
"V-VINCENT...?! BRIDGET?!" Vanessa stammered, taking two panicked steps backward against the sofa. "WHAT IS THIS AMBUSH?! I LOVED YOU!"
"You didn't love me, Vanessa," I announced flatly, my deep baritone carrying cleanly across the room, dropping the temperature to zero. "You were an ambitious viper who tried to murder my wife for a fifty-one percent stake in my shipping berths."
"YOU CAN'T LOCK ME UP!" Vanessa shrieked, thrashing as two uniformed federal marshals stepped forward with heavy steel handcuffs. "RICHARD STERLING HAS THE ENTIRE BOARD BEHIND HIM! YOU HAVE NO PROOF!"
"Richard Sterling is about to meet his legacy, Vanessa," Marcus Vance corrected deadpan.
May you like
CLICK. CLICK.
Vanessa thrashed and wept hysterical, groveling pleas as marshals locked steel cuffs around her wrists behind her back, dragging her out of the Lexington penthouse in total, public disgrace, while federal agents sealed the property for civil asset forfeiture.
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