Chapter 18 - THE AMBUSH AT THE PENTHOUSE
The psychological warfare escalated quickly. Strange things began happening around my penthouse. The security cameras in my hallway would mysteriously glitch for ten minutes at a time. Anonymous packages filled with cut-up fashion magazines—an eerie callback to Briana’s delusions—arrived at my door.
One evening, I came home late from the firm, my mind racing with strategies to counter Arthur’s corporate hostile takeover. As I unlocked my door, I noticed the faint scent of expensive men's cologne lingering in the air. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn't step inside. Instead, I backed away, hit the panic button on my key fob, and called the police.
When the authorities cleared the apartment, they found nothing stolen. But on my kitchen counter, pinned under a heavy stainless-steel paperweight, was a single lock of synthetic hair. It was a psychological message, a brutal reminder of the night Trevor pinned me down with the kitchen shears.
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Arthur was trying to break my sanity, trying to force me into a paranoid breakdown so I would make a mistake at the firm. I realized then that playing defense was no longer an option. I needed to go on the offensive. I called Khloe. "We aren't waiting for him to strike again," I told her. "We are going to find where he hides his money, and we are going to bleed his empire dry."
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