Chapter 7 - The Ghost of the Past
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind Clara with a resounding crash that rattled the glass in the sidelights. Richard didn't move. He stood in the center of the entryway, his eyes fixed on the heavy brass handle, the silence of the massive house pressing down on him like an anvil.
"Well," Elena said, her voice dripping with venomous relief as she walked toward the kitchen. "That solves that problem. Now we can deal with the divorce papers like civil adults, Richard. You keep your corporation, and I keep my share of the offshore holdings. Simple."
Richard turned around slowly, his face devoid of any expression. It was the face he wore when he was about to bankrupt a competitor—cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"You think this is over because she walked out that door?" Richard asked softly, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
Elena stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, her hand resting on the white frame. She turned back, a flicker of unease crossing her features. "What are you talking about? The girl is gone. The evidence is on that drive. We sweep the rest under the rug."
"The drive," Richard repeated, lifting his right hand to reveal the tiny micro-device he had pulled from the laptop. He pressed it gently between his thumb and forefinger until a tiny plastic tab snapped. "You really think I'm stupid enough to let you walk away with the keys to my entire financial empire?"
Elena’s eyes widened in horror. "You didn't."
"I did," Richard said, walking slowly toward her. "That drive was a decoy. The real data was uploaded to an encrypted federal server the moment Clara plugged it in. The moment you framed her for wire fraud, you crossed a legal line that no amount of money can buy your way out of."
"You're bluffing," Elena whispered, backing into the kitchen as Richard advanced. "You wouldn't destroy our family name. You care too much about what the board says."
"The board will find out about your embezzlement by noon," Richard said, stopping just two feet away from her. "And by tonight, the federal prosecutors will have the full paper trail of the funds you funneled into those Swiss accounts—accounts you opened using Clara's identity, yes, but signed with your own notary stamp."
Elena froze, her hand flying to her throat. "My notary stamp... I burned that months ago."
"Did you?" Richard pulled a small, charred piece of metal and rubber from his coat pocket and dropped it onto the kitchen island with a sharp clatter. "The fireplace in the master study doesn't burn hot enough to destroy titanium reinforcement plates, Elena. Especially when the maid cleans the ash trap every Tuesday."
Elena stared at the ruined stamp, her knees buckling slightly as the final pillar of her defense crumbled into dust. But before she could speak, the landline telephone on the kitchen wall began to ring, its shrill, persistent tone cutting through the silence like a knife.
Richard stared at the blinking red light on the console for a second before reaching out to lift the receiver. "Talk to me."
May you like
A frantic voice crackled through the speaker, belonging to head of security Marcus Vance. "Mr. Vance, sir, you need to turn on the local news channel immediately. It's about Miss Clara."
---
