Chapter 7 - Vanessa’s Real Game
Alexander called Vanessa immediately.
She didn’t answer.
He called again.
Nothing.
Then a text appeared.
DON’T DO THIS.
Alexander showed me.
I laughed without humor.
“That sounds guilty.”
Twenty minutes later, another message arrived.
MEET ME ALONE. MIDTOWN PENTHOUSE. 8 PM.
Alexander stared at it.
Detective Martinez shook her head.
“You’re not meeting her alone.”
So naturally, Alexander agreed to meet her alone.
With police nearby.
At 8:07 p.m., I sat inside an unmarked vehicle across the street while Alexander entered Vanessa’s penthouse wearing a recording device.
Martinez listened through headphones.
Vanessa’s voice came through clearly.
“You should have destroyed the box.”
“You knew about Lena’s mother.”
Silence.
Then Vanessa sighed.
“I knew her name.”
“For how long?”
“My father told me years ago.”
“Did you recognize Lena at the ballroom?”
“Yes.”
My fists clenched.
Alexander’s voice hardened.
“So the jokes. The humiliation.”
“I was trying to make her quit!”
“Why?”
“Because six weeks ago, I saw her employee file.”
Vanessa’s heels clicked across the floor.
“You were planning to move the executive offices. Facilities sent me staffing records because I was helping with the gala. I saw Lena Morales.”
She laughed bitterly.
“What were the chances?”
Alexander asked, “Did your father send those men to her apartment?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vanessa.”
“I said I don’t know!”
Her voice cracked.
Then she lowered it.
“My father has spent fourteen years making sure Elena Morales stayed dead.”
The officers in the van exchanged looks.
Martinez spoke into her radio.
“Get ready.”
Alexander asked the question I needed answered.
“Did Charles Sterling kill Lena’s mother?”
Vanessa went quiet.
“I was sixteen.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I heard my father arguing with someone.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘The brake problem was supposed to scare her, not kill her.’”
My stomach twisted.
Vanessa continued.
“He never admitted anything else.”
Alexander said, “You protected him.”
“He’s my father!”
“So you destroyed evidence?”
“No.”
“Who broke into my grandmother’s study?”
Silence.
Then Vanessa whispered, “My father’s security chief.”
Martinez raised her hand.
Officers moved.
Before they reached the entrance, we heard Alexander shout.
Then glass shattered.
“Move!”
We ran.
Inside the penthouse, Vanessa stood near the window.
Alexander was on the floor.
A massive man in a black jacket held a gun.
Vanessa screamed.
“I told you not to come!”
The man grabbed her.
“She talks too much.”
Police flooded the room.
“Drop the weapon!”
For five terrifying seconds, nobody moved.
Then Vanessa drove her heel into the man’s foot.
Alexander lunged.
Police tackled the security chief.
I rushed toward Alexander.
His eyebrow was bleeding.
Again.
“You have a terrible habit of getting punched.”
He laughed once.
“I’m beginning to notice.”
Vanessa collapsed against the wall.
Martinez handcuffed the security chief.
Then Vanessa looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at her.
“For humiliating you. For knowing your name. For everything.”
I didn’t forgive her.
Not yet.
But I believed one thing.
She was afraid of her father.
Then Martinez’s phone rang.
Her expression changed as she listened.
She ended the call.
“What?”
I asked.
She looked at me.
“Charles Sterling’s private jet is being prepared at Teterboro.”
Alexander stood.
“He’s running.”
May you like
Martinez shook her head.
“Not anymore.”
