Chapter 7
The morning sun pierced through the towering stained-glass windows of the grand foyer, casting long, fractured beams of ruby and gold across the marble floor. Arthur Sterling stood near the base of the staircase, his tailored charcoal suit immaculate despite the early hour. Flanking him were two local sheriff’s deputies, their hands resting near their holstered weapons. Beatrice Vance descended the curved staircase behind them, draped in a heavy silk robe, her blonde hair still perfectly braided, looking as though she hadn't slept a wink, nor missed a single beat of her ruthless plan.
Julian and Rebecca descended side by side, their presence halting the procession halfway down. The contrast was stark: Julian in his unbuttoned black shirt and Rebecca in her pale blue halter dress, looking battered by the night yet entirely unbowed.
“Well,” Beatrice purred, her voice dripping with artificial disappointment. “I see you’ve finally decided to surface. I trust you enjoyed your final night of living above your means, Rebecca.”
Arthur Sterling stepped forward, flashing a practiced, shark-like smile. “Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance. We have a search warrant authorized by Judge Holloway for any additional stolen assets located on these premises. I advise you not to interfere.”
“A warrant at four in the morning, Arthur?” Julian challenged, his voice cutting through the cavernous space with a chilling calm. “Secured without a preliminary hearing or a formal police report? That’s awfully fast work for a man who claims to represent only a grieving mother.”
Sterling’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered his composure. “The evidence provided at the gala—specifically the stolen heirloom recovered from your wife’s possession—constitutes probable cause of an ongoing flight risk.”
Rebecca stepped past Julian, descending the final few steps until she stood eye-to-eye with the high-powered attorney. The fear that had defined her expression in the ballroom had completely vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating composure that mirrored Beatrice’s own.
“Probable cause manufactured by a hacked security system and an administrative override routed directly to your burner phone, Mr. Sterling,” Rebecca said smoothly, her voice echoing off the marble walls.
The silence that followed was absolute. Arthur Sterling’s color drained noticeably, his eyes darting toward Beatrice. Beatrice’s expression hardened, her pale blue eyes narrowing into slits as she looked down at the younger woman.
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“What nonsense is this?” Beatrice snapped, though a tremor of genuine unease flickered in her tone.
“It’s not nonsense, Beatrice,” Rebecca replied, pulling the encrypted flash drive from her pocket and holding it up for the deputies to see. “It’s digital proof of conspiracy, wire fraud, and malicious prosecution. And copies of these files are currently uploading to the state prosecutor’s public portal on a timed release that triggers automatically if my phone loses connection with the network.”
