Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the Penthouse
The presidential suite transformed into a command post in less than three minutes.
Vance hauled Gregory up by his collar and dropped him heavily into an armchair, binding his wrists with heavy-duty flex-cuffs before Gregory could utter another protest. Gregory’s face was pale, smeared with sweat and expensive cologne.
""You can't do this!"" Gregory shouted, staring wildly around the room at the tactical gear and encrypted comms equipment Vance’s team had set up on the coffee table. ""My father is Arthur Sterling! You'll spend the rest of your lives in a military stockade!""
""Your father's busy, Gregory,"" I said, walking over to the minibar and pouring a glass of cold sparkling water. I hadn't touched a drop of the champagne they had left us; in my line of work, situational awareness is everything, even on your wedding night. ""Right now, your father is realizing that his empire of cards is about to collapse.""
I picked up the phone, which was still connected to Arthur Sterling’s private line. The line hadn't disconnected; the old man was still listening to every word, frozen in his office.
""Are you still there, Mr. Sterling?"" I asked smoothly.
A heavy sigh drifted through the speaker. The arrogance was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating desperation of a predator trapped in its own den.
""What do you want?"" Arthur asked, his voice flat. ""Name your price. A settlement? Offshore accounts? You want half of Sterling Holdings? We can structure a quiet separation settlement before eight o'clock. No scandal, no federal charges. Just a clean exit.""
I took a slow sip of water, letting the silence stretch out until it made Gregory squirm in his chair.
""Money?"" I laughed softly. ""Mr. Sterling, you still don't get it. I didn't marry your son for his trust fund. I didn't marry him for his name. I married him because three months ago, my younger brother—an accountant at Sterling Maritime—was found dead in an alley behind your corporate headquarters after discovering two million dollars in missing pension funds.""
Gregory went completely still. The color drained entirely from his cheeks, leaving him looking like a corpse.
""You... you knew?"" Gregory whispered, staring at me with horror.
""I knew everything,"" I said, my voice dropping into a lethal, quiet tone. ""I knew about the forged audit reports. I knew about the safety violations your son covered up. And most importantly, I knew that your father used the exact same playbook twenty-five years ago to frame a terrified young woman named Eleanor Vance—your first wife—making the world believe she was unstable so he could institutionalize her and steal her family's patents.""
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Arthur Sterling’s voice on the phone erupted in a roar of fury and panic. ""That's a lie! Eleanor was unstable! She fell down the grand staircase—she was mentally unfit!""
""She wasn't unstable, Mr. Sterling,"" I countered, stepping closer to the phone. ""She kept a diary. A diary that your son’s current bride happened to find locked inside a safe-deposit box last week. And guess what? The federal investigators landing at eight o'clock aren't just auditing tax fraud. They're opening a cold-case homicide investigation.""
