Chapter 12: An Unexpected Visitor
The security notification chime on Maeve's desk terminal pinged softly at 8:15 PM. The executive suite was dark except for the amber glow of the desk lamps and the city lights filtering through the glass. Arthur had gone downstairs to confer with the night security detail, leaving Maeve alone with the digital archives of Meridian Logistics.
The security feed on the corner monitor showed the ground-floor lobby. A solitary figure stood outside the revolving glass doors, drenched in the cold autumn rain that had begun to fall over Manhattan. It was Victoria Val.
She was no longer wearing the elegant white one-shoulder dress from the gala. Instead, she wore a simple, dark trench coat, her blonde hair plastered to her cheeks by the rain, her makeup running in dark streaks down her face. She looked small, defeated, and utterly stripped of her aristocratic armor.
Maeve picked up the intercom receiver and pressed the direct line to the lobby guard. "Let her up."
Ten minutes later, the heavy frosted-glass door of the executive suite opened slowly. Victoria stepped inside, shivering slightly, water dripping from the hem of her trench coat onto the polished hardwood floor. She didn't look at the expensive artwork or the mahogany furniture; her eyes were locked entirely on Maeve, who sat calmly behind the desk, watching her with a neutral expression.
"They locked me out of the penthouse," Victoria said, her voice hollow, devoid of its former haughtiness. "The cards wouldn't scan. The bank accounts are frozen. My friends... the ones who invited me to every gala in the city... won't even answer my phone calls."
"That's usually what happens when the money runs out, Victoria," Maeve said quietly, gesturing toward the leather guest chair. "Sit down before you catch pneumonia."
Victoria hesitated, then walked slowly across the room and sank into the chair. She didn't cry; she had passed the point of tears hours ago. She stared at her trembling hands resting in her lap. "Marcus Vance dropped me as a client an hour ago. He said I was a liability, that I had outlived my usefulness to his firm."
"Marcus is a professional at cutting losses," Maeve replied, leaning back in her chair. "Your father's old friends don't harbor failures."
"You planned this," Victoria whispered, looking up with eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and cold rain. "From the moment you took that temp job in the archives six months ago. You let me walk all over you. You let me humiliate you in the office, just so I would let my guard down."
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"I didn't make you steal from the foundation, Victoria," Maeve reminded her, her voice firm but not unkind. "I didn't force you to forge those signatures or embezzle those millions. You chose greed every single time. I simply gave you the rope."
Victoria bowed her head, a bitter, broken laugh escaping her lips. "And I hung myself with it."
