Chapter 13 - The Trap Closes
We were escorted out into the rain like common trespassers.
My father collapsed into the back of his town car, gasping for air. His personal physician had to be called immediately; the shock of losing the empire his father had founded caused his blood pressure to skyrocket dangerously.
Back at my private brownstone, the storm was raging outside, rattling the windowpanes. Marcus and our private investigator, Sarah Chen, were waiting in my living room, surrounded by laptops, legal briefs, and stacks of medical records.
"The notary was paid two hundred thousand dollars through an offshore account in Belize," Sarah said, pointing her laser pointer at a financial map on the screen. "His name is Gregory Vance—Victoria’s second cousin. The signature on the deed of settlement was forged using high-resolution digital scanning from your original marriage license."
"Can we prove it before the emergency shareholder meeting on Friday?" Marcus asked, rubbing his tired temples. "If Malcolm liquidates the assets on Friday, the board will finalize the sale of the shipping fleet to an overseas buyer. Once the capital leaves the country, even if we prove the fraud later, the money is gone."
"No judge will grant an emergency injunction without the original physical document or the testimony of the notary," Sarah said grimly. "And Gregory Vance boarded a flight to Grand Cayman six hours ago."
I stood by the fireplace, watching the flames lick the dark wood.
The room was silent save for the crackling embers. My knees ached—a psychosomatic phantom pain from that horrific night when I had collapsed in the snow, shivering, pleading for mercy while Victoria laughed and Julian closed the front door.
*They think I am still that broken girl crawling on the porch,* I thought. *They think because they stole my signature, they stole my soul.*
"Where is Julian right now?" I asked suddenly, turning to Sarah.
Sarah blinked. "He's staying at the penthouse suite of the Ritz-Carlton. Malcolm put him up there with an unlimited corporate expense account as a reward for playing his part."
"Julian is weak," I said, a dangerous, cold clarity settling over me. "He acts like a monster when he has an audience, but when the pressure mounts, he cowers. He has the original hard drive containing the scanned template of my signature. Malcolm would never keep the forged source files in his own office—he’s too smart. He made Julian hold the physical liability."
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"Eleanor, what are you thinking?" Marcus warned. "You can't just break into a suite at the Ritz."
"I don't have to break in," I said, slipping my phone from my pocket. "Julian still thinks I love him. He still thinks, deep down, that I am the desperate, compliant wife he groomed for three years. It’s time I played the role he wrote for me."
