Chapter 5
Twenty minutes later, Marcus’s call came through with the forensic data that changed the trajectory of the entire case. Elena listened intently as her brother outlined his discoveries from the cloud backups.
"You were right, El," Marcus said, his voice laced with professional excitement. "Chloe Bennett didn't just manage the social media accounts; she was the one executing the wire transfers to the offshore accounts using Dorothy's administrative credentials. But here is the kicker: the IP addresses tracing those transfers don't lead back to the office in downtown San Francisco, nor do they lead to the cliffside house. They trace directly to an upscale apartment in Santa Monica registered under a shell company owned by Arthur Sterling's estranged son, Julian."
Elena’s eyes widened slightly as the puzzle pieces slammed into place. "Julian Sterling? Arthur’s son? The one who supposedly disowned his father years ago?"
"The very same," Marcus confirmed. "According to the corporate filings, Julian set up the shell company six months before Arthur died. It wasn't Dorothy stealing from the estate—it was Julian using Dorothy as a front to drain his father's accounts legally under the guise of real estate transactions, while blackmailing Dorothy with threats of exposing her shaky financial foundation if she didn't cooperate."
The realization hit Elena with the force of a physical blow. Dorothy wasn't the master criminal of Montalvo Cliffs; she was a puppet, leveraged and trapped by a ruthless heir who knew every family secret and financial vulnerability. Dorothy’s desperation on the deck earlier that morning wasn't just fear of legal exposure—it was terror of Julian Sterling.
Elena started the engine of her sedan, shifting the gear into drive with renewed urgency. "Marcus, where is Julian right now?"
"Flight records show he landed at San Francisco International Airport forty minutes ago," Marcus warned. "And based on his GPS ping, his car is heading north on Highway One right now. Estimated time of arrival at the cliffside estate: fifteen minutes."
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"Call local authorities," Elena ordered, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal as the car kicked up gravel on the driveway. "Tell them we have an active extortion and asset-draining conspiracy involving the Sterling estate. I'm heading back up to the house. Dorothy is in immediate danger."
The drive back up the winding coastal road felt agonizingly slow. Fog was beginning to roll in from the sea, blanketing the highway in a thick, eerie white mist that reduced visibility to mere yards. Elena gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white. The serene coastal haven where this morning had begun in polite confrontation was rapidly transforming into the stage for a much more dangerous confrontation.
