Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Penthouse
The Sterling penthouse smelled of stale champagne, expensive tobacco, and sudden, desperate panic. Chloe paced the imported Italian marble floor of the living room, her sparkly beige gown stained with spilled wine and sweat.
Her phone buzzed continuously on the glass coffee table, displaying angry text messages from creditors, luxury car dealerships, and lawyers abandoning ship.
“Answer it, Julian! Do something!” Chloe shrieked, her voice bouncing harshly off the high glass windows overlooking the glittering skyline of Chicago.
Julian sat heavily on the velvet sofa, his dark blue suit rumpled and his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked hollowed out, a man stripped of the armor that wealth had provided him since birth.
“They took the keys, Chloe,” Julian muttered, staring blankly at his empty hands.
“The accounts are frozen under federal asset forfeiture laws. We can’t even buy a cup of coffee.”
“Your mother did this!” Chloe hissed, stepping close to him and jabbing a sharp, manicured fingernail into his chest.
“Your precious mother walked away scot-free while we are facing twenty years in federal prison! Call her! Beg her!”
Julian let out a bitter, joyless laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“Call her? With what phone, Chloe? The authorities seized all our electronics twenty minutes after we got back from the ballroom.”
Suddenly, the heavy security door at the private elevator lobby clicked open. Neither Julian nor Chloe had the access codes anymore; those had reverted to the primary estate holder instantly upon the asset freeze.
Heavy, measured footsteps echoed down the private hallway.
A tall figure stepped into the dim light of the penthouse foyer, wearing an immaculate black trench coat over a familiar cream-colored satin dress.
It was Margaret. Her expression was like carved marble, cold and utterly unforgiving as she surveyed the chaotic wreckage of her son’s stolen empire.
Chloe rushed forward, throwing herself toward Margaret with fake tears streaming down her painted cheeks.
“Margaret! Thank God! Please help us straighten this nightmare out!”
Margaret didn’t even flinch. She raised one gloved hand, stopping Chloe inches away with a look so lethal that the younger woman stumbled backward in terror.
“Save the dramatics for the judge, Chloe,” Margaret said softly, stepping past them to take a seat at the mahogany desk.
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“I didn’t come here to save you. I came to reclaim what was stolen from my husband’s legacy.”
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