Chapter 7
Before Elena could lunge again, the security panel chimed a second time. This time, it wasn't the private elevator. Downstairs in the main lobby, the building’s intercom buzzed insistently, followed by the heavy, authoritative thud of boots in the stairwell.
Marcus rushed to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down. Three unmarked black SUVs were idling at the curb, their emergency strobes reflecting off the wet asphalt. Men in dark suits were pouring out of the vehicles, flanked by uniformed city police officers carrying tactical gear.
“They’re here,” Marcus breathed, turning back to face the room with a hollow expression. He looked at Clara as if seeing a reaper manifest in physical form. “How did you move so fast? We only just got back from the cathedral.”
“You underestimate what a person can accomplish when they have nothing left to lose and a very motivated legal team waiting in the wings,” Clara replied, her voice devoid of triumph, carrying only the weight of cold, inevitable justice. She placed the heavy leather ledger down on the mahogany coffee table, right beside the spilled scotch and broken glass.
Julian looked up from the sofa, his eyes red-rimmed and defeated. He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket, pulled out a gold-plated fountain pen, and laid it neatly beside the ledger. It was a silent surrender, an admission of defeat that infuriated Elena further.
“You’re just going to let her win?” Elena snarled, her voice climbing into a desperate screech as heavy pounding echoed against the penthouse’s reinforced double doors. “Open the door and they’ll find nothing! We have high-priced lawyers, we have offshore accounts, we can fight this in civil court for a decade!”
May you like
“Civil court requires a living plaintiff, Elena,” a deep, unfamiliar voice resonated from the foyer.
The heavy oak door didn’t need to be broken down; the smart-lock disengaged with a sharp click, and Arthur Vance stepped into the penthouse. Flanked by two federal marshals, the silver-haired corporate titan looked impeccably tailored, his expression a mask of severe disapproval as he surveyed the wreckage of the room, the bride in her ruined gown, and Clara standing upright among them all.
