Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Ledger
Downstairs, far beneath the opulent chandeliers and gleaming marble of the main foyer, the estate’s massive study remained dark.
Sterling Kane sat behind Everett’s heavy mahogany desk, a glass of thirty-year-old scotch in his hand, staring at a laptop screen glowing with offshore bank transfers.
“Trouble with the bride?”
The voice came from the shadows near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Marcus Vance, Sterling’s chief fixer and legal bulldog, stepped into the amber light of the desk lamp.
Sterling took a slow sip of his scotch, scowling. “She’s becoming a nuisance. I thought dumping her in that room with the vegetables would break her spirit within forty-eight hours. Instead, she’s camping out by his bed like a stray dog guarding a bone.”
“She’s a former ICU nurse, Sterling,” Marcus reminded him, his voice flat and businesslike. “We knew that when we pulled her file from the Lakeside Grill.”
“She’s a disgraced nurse with a forged negligence charge on her record!” Sterling snapped, slamming his glass down on the desk. “Whitfield assured me she wouldn't know the difference between saline and potassium chloride. But she’s asking questions. She intercepted Whitfield during his midnight run last night.”
Marcus crossed his arms, his dark eyes narrowing. “Then Whitfield needs to be more careful. We are three weeks away from the board meeting where we petition the court for full medical guardianship and asset consolidation. If the board thinks Everett’s condition is being artificially manipulated—or worse, if someone proves foul play—our entire corporate restructuring plan goes up in smoke.”
“What do you suggest?” Sterling asked, leaning forward. “We can’t just make her disappear. The media is already watching the estate because of the high-profile wedding. A missing bride three days after marrying a billionaire would bring federal investigators crawling all over the riverfront.”
“We don't make her disappear,” Marcus said, a cold, calculating smile spreading across his face. “We discredit her. We make it look like the stress of her mother’s impending medical discharge and her own unstable mental history have caused a severe psychological break. We commit her to a private psychiatric facility under the guise of spousal care.”
Sterling’s expression brightened. “And once she’s locked away in an asylum, signing away Everett’s medical proxy will be child's play.”
“Precisely,” Marcus replied. “I’ll draft the commitment papers tonight. Have Whitfield sign off on the psychological evaluation by tomorrow morning.”
Neither man noticed the shadow standing just outside the heavy oak double doors of the study.
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Willa pressed her back against the cool wood paneled wall, her breath hitched in her throat. She had come downstairs to look for extra linens in the ground-floor storage closet, only to stumble upon a conspiracy designed to lock her away forever.
They weren't just trying to kill Everett. They were coming for her, too.
