Chapter 4 - The Eviction Of The Mistress
By two o'clock that afternoon, the rain had returned to Chicago, washing over the limestone facade of our North Shore home.
A sleek black Mercedes SUV was parked crookedly in our circular driveway, its hazard lights blinking through the drizzle.
I pulled my station wagon into the garage, walked through the mudroom, and stepped into the grand two-story living room.
Vanessa Cole was there.
She had already packed three large Louis Vuitton duffle bags, which were sitting near the grand piano.
She was currently rummaging through the antique credenza in my private study, frantically stuffing velvet jewelry boxes and cash envelopes into an oversized leather tote.
"Looking for your severance package, Vanessa?" I asked from the archway.
Vanessa jumped, dropping a velvet case that spilled a string of antique pearls across the hardwood floor.
She spun around, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, wearing black designer leggings and an expensive cashmere hoodie.
Her arrogant, red-carpet smirk was completely gone, replaced by the feral, cornered look of a thief caught with her hands in the safe.
"Grant told me I could stay here until the bail hearing," Vanessa said through clenched teeth, lifting her chin in a pathetic attempt at defiance.
"Grant doesn't own this house, Vanessa," I replied smoothly, pulling a certified document from my handbag.
"The North Shore property was purchased using the proceeds from my mother's estate sale twelve years ago. The deed is held entirely under the Miller-Bennett Living Trust, of which I am the sole surviving trustee."
I tapped the paper against the doorframe.
"You have approximately four minutes before the local sheriff removes you for felony home invasion."
Vanessa’s face twisted into pure, unadulterated hatred.
She kicked the jewelry box across the floor, sending pearls rolling beneath the sofa.
"You think you're so noble, don't you, Laura?" Vanessa sneered, stepping closer.
"You sat here playing soccer mom while Grant built an empire! He was bored to death of you! He told me sleeping with you was like sleeping with a piece of furniture!"
I didn't flinch, and I didn't raise my hand.
I had spent fifteen years designing commercial structures meant to withstand hurricane-force winds; words from an amateur embezzler weren't going to shake my foundation.
"Grant told you whatever he needed to tell you to get you to sign your name to that shell corporation, Vanessa," I said quietly.
Vanessa frowned, a flash of doubt flickering across her eyes.
"What are you talking about?"
"VC Strategic Horizon wasn't just your LLC," I revealed, stepping into the room.
"The operating agreement Grant had you notarize in October designates you as the Managing Director with sole personal liability for all incoming capital."
Vanessa’s breath hitched in her throat.
"No... he said we were equal partners."
"Grant never had partners, Vanessa. He had scapegoats," I said with cold pity.
"He structured the offshore wire so that if the charity ever audited the accounts, the paper trail pointed entirely to your private accounts. You were his human shield."
Down the driveway, the high-pitched siren of a squad car cut through the rain.
Vanessa backed toward the front door, her hands trembling so violently she dropped her car keys onto the marble tiles.
"You're lying! He loves me!" she cried, but her voice was hollow, stripped of every shred of conviction.
May you like
"Run along, Vanessa," I said, gesturing to the open front door.
"The federal prosecutors are waiting for you at your Tribeca apartment. Let's see how much Grant's love is worth when you're facing twenty years in Pekin."
