Chapter 5
The private study of the Sterling-Vance estate smelled of aged leather, burning cedar, and expensive scotch. Rain lashed against the tall, arched windows that overlooked the manicured lawns fading into the dark, churning expanse of the Atlantic coast. Victoria stood by the fireplace, the flames casting erratic orange shadows across the sleek fabric of her black gown, which she still refused to change out of, as if maintaining the armor of the evening would protect her from the fallout.
Julian closed the heavy oak door behind him with a dull, echoing thud. He didn't offer her a drink, nor did he pour one for himself. He simply walked to the mahogany desk, dropped his car keys with a sharp clatter, and turned to face his wife. "The hotel security chief called me ten minutes ago," Julian began, his voice flat and controlled. "Marcus Vance. He reviewed the raw feed from the service elevator. Not the edited highlight reel you made sure the floor managers saw."
Victoria didn't flinch, though her fingers tightened around the stem of an unlit cigarette. "Marcus is an old man whose eyes are failing," she retorted smoothly, her voice laced with studied indifference. "If heβs seeing things that aren't there, perhaps it's time the board brought in a younger, more competent head of security. One who understands who actually signs his quarterly bonus."
"Stop it, Victoria," Julian snapped, the quiet control finally snapping, revealing a jagged edge of suppressed rage. He stepped closer, towering over her by half a foot. "Marcus has the whole sequence. He saw you hand the bag to David Thorne before the gala even started. He saw David slip it into the service corridor while you were busy holding court with the senator. You staged a public execution of an innocent girl to cover up an insurance fraud. Why? Are the accounts that low? Is the foundation bleeding out?"
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Victoria finally turned to face him, her eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying clarity. The sophisticated socialite faΓ§ade melted away, leaving behind a desperate, hardened strategist. "You think this is about money, Julian? You think I care about a payout from some corporate insurance syndicate?" She let out a sharp, breathless laugh. "You have no idea what David and I are dealing with. The board has been auditing the philanthropic trust for six months. If the auditors find out where the endowment funds actually wentβinto your brother's failing tech startupsβwe aren't just looking at social ruin. We're looking at federal indictments."
Julian stepped back as if struck, the color draining rapidly from his face. The scotch in the decanter suddenly seemed like a very distant memory. The missing necklace wasn't a theft; it was a desperate, sacrificial distraction designed to throw the forensic accountants off the scent of a much larger, systemic embezzlement scheme that he had foolishly trusted his family to manage.
