Chapter 6 - The Viper’s Last Strike
By afternoon, the desperation at the Vance household had turned into a toxic, cornered rage.
Since the federal seizure of their main assets, Eleanor Vance had managed to evade the initial round of police detainment by claiming medical exemption, retreating to a heavily fortified secondary townhouse in Lincoln Park with Chloe.
Inside the dimly lit parlor, Eleanor paced back and forth, her diamond rings clicking together as she wrung her hands.
"She’s destroying us, Chloe!" Eleanor hissed, turning on her daughter with wild, manic eyes. "That little nobody orphan from the south side is systematically dismantling thirty years of family legacy because you couldn't keep your hands off her purse!"
Chloe sat on the velvet sofa, her mascara smudged from hours of crying, her face twisted in pure venom. "It wasn't my fault! She looked so smug standing there in that cheap dress! I just wanted to break her!"
"Well, congratulations, you broke our entire financial foundation instead," Eleanor snapped. She stopped pacing, a dark, sinister light entering her eyes. "If the legal system won't protect us, we'll handle it the old-fashioned way. Victor Sterling still owes me a favor."
Chloe gasped. "Victor Sterling? Mom, he’s a convicted corporate raider! People whisper that his last business partner 'disappeared' before a major shareholder vote!"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Eleanor said coldly, pulling a vintage gold-plated burner phone from her pocket. "If Vivienne refuses to drop the federal complaints voluntarily, we’ll convince her to sign over the divorce settlement under... different circumstances."
An hour later, Marcus called me in the loft.
"Vivienne, I just received an encrypted ping alert from our private surveillance detail," Marcus said urgently. "A known associate of Victor Sterling—a high-level fixer with a record for intimidation and harassment—was spotted loitering downstairs in the lobby of your loft building asking about unit numbers."
I looked out the massive windows of my loft. Down on the street level, a nondescript black sedan was parked illegally across from the main entrance, two men in dark hoodies sitting inside, staring intently up at my floor.
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The Vances were done playing by the rules. They were moving into criminal intimidation.
"Good," I said, a dangerous, confident smile playing across my lips. "Let them come up."
