Chapter 6
The screen's green glow cast stark shadows across the study as Rebecca exported the transaction logs onto her own encrypted drive. The connection between Beatrice Vance and her high-powered divorce attorney went far beyond professional representation; it was a conspiracy designed to engineer financial ruin. Julian stared at the glowing monitor, the last vestiges of his familial loyalty evaporating into the chilly night air.
“Sterling,” Julian said, his voice hard, lacking all the hesitation that had plagued him in the ballroom. “My mother’s lawyer wasn't just waiting in the wings for a crisis. He helped write the script.”
“Which means the legal trap was set long before the party ever started,” Rebecca replied, pocketing the drive with a steady hand. “The necklace, the cameras, the timing—it was all choreographed to ensure that when I opened that clutch, every legal defense I could possibly mount would instantly crumble under the weight of predetermined evidence.”
Before Julian could answer, a sharp, rhythmic tapping echoed from the hallway door. It wasn't the tentative knock of before, but an urgent, coded signal. Julian drew his breath and pulled the door open to find Marcus standing there, his face paler than usual.
“Sir, we have a problem,” Marcus murmured, glancing over his shoulder into the empty corridor. “Arthur Sterling just arrived at the front gates with two county deputies. They didn't wait for a warrant; they claimed exigent circumstances regarding stolen property. They’re searching the west wing right now.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “How did they get here so fast? It’s barely dawn.”
“Because they were already parked down the private lane, waiting for the signal,” Marcus said grimly. “Mrs. Vance anticipated that we might look for the system logs. She set a trap within a trap.”
Rebecca stepped out of the hidden alcove, her face resolute. Running was no longer an option. If they fled, the narrative of guilt would be permanently cemented in the public record, and the Vance legal machine would strip them of everything—their homes, their bank accounts, and their dignity.
“We don’t run,” Rebecca stated clearly. “We meet them downstairs.”
Julian looked at his wife, seeing a strength that dwarfed his own panic. He nodded slowly, straightening his shoulders. The boy who had lived in the shadow of an overbearing matriarch was finally gone, replaced by a man ready to fight for his survival.
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“Marcus, disable the master terminal entirely,” Julian instructed. “Wipe the local cache. If they want evidence, they’ll have to explain why they brought a private attorney to a dawn police raid before a formal complaint was even filed.”
As the trio moved quickly down the grand staircase, the sounds of heavy boots echoed from the foyer below, signaling the arrival of the storm.
