Chapter 2 - The Lion's Den
The aftermath of the gala was a whirlwind of chaos. While the elite of the city scrambled to distance themselves from my stepmother and Veronica, Alexander whisked me away in his armored limousine to a private medical clinic he had bought out for the night.
As the doctor stitched up my palm, Alexander sat in a leather armchair across from me, a glass of amber scotch untouched on the table beside him.
"You were reckless tonight, Scarlett," he said, his tone stern but not unkind. "If I hadn't intercepted the email your father left in the secure Swiss vault, I wouldn't have known to arrive tonight. You could have been seriously hurt."
"They took everything, Uncle Alex," I said, looking down at my bandaged hand. "They locked me out of the house I grew up in. They treated my father like he was a nobody. I had to show them I wasn't afraid."
"Courage without strategy is just martyrdom," Alexander replied, standing up and walking over to me. He placed a hand on my uninjured shoulder. "But you won't have to fight alone anymore. The forged will is just the tip of the iceberg. My investigators have been digging into your stepmother's finances. Do you know where the foundation’s money has been going for the past five months?"
I shook my head.
"An offshore account registered in the Cayman Islands, under the name of a shell company owned by a man named Julian Vance," Alexander revealed.
My breath hitched. Julian Vance was the city’s most notorious predatory real estate developer. He had been trying to buy the historic waterfront property owned by the Sterling Foundation for years, but my father had always refused, wanting to build a rehabilitation village for veterans there.
"They are selling my father’s dream," I whispered, anger flaring in my chest.
"They were trying to," Alexander corrected. "But now that I have frozen the foundation's assets, Julian Vance is panicking. He has already invested thirty million dollars of dirty money into the deal, money he cannot get back. Victoria and Veronica promised him the land. Now, he wants blood."
The next morning, the news hit the front pages. STERLING EMPIRE IN TURMOIL: BILLIONAIRE BROTHER RETURNS, ALLEGATIONS OF FORGERY AND FRAUD.
I moved out of the cheap motel I had been staying in and into Alexander’s penthouse suite overlooking the city. But I didn't rest. Over the next three days, Alexander’s legal team prepped me. We were going to file a formal injunction to permanently strip Victoria of her parental status and reclaim the family mansion.
On Thursday afternoon, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered it.
"Scarlett," a trembling, desperate voice came through the speaker. It was Veronica.
"What do you want, Veronica?" I asked coldly.
"Please... you have to stop Alexander. The bank froze our personal accounts. Mom and I are being evicted from the mansion by the end of the week. The police are monitoring our every move. We have nothing!"
"You have exactly what you gave me," I replied. "A cold shoulder and a mountain of lies."
"Scarlett, please, I’m begging you!" she sobbed, but I could hear a strange, rhythmic clicking sound in the background—the sound of heavy machinery or heavy rain against a metal roof. She wasn't at the mansion. "Let’s meet. Just you and me. I have the original journals your father kept during his final days. The ones that prove he loved you. The ones that show what he really died of. If you come alone, I’ll give them to you. If you don't... I’ll burn them."
I narrowed my eyes. "Where are you?"
"The old shipping warehouse on Pier 4. The one your father abandoned years ago. Come alone, Scarlett. If I see your uncle’s security, I’ll drop the journals into the furnace."
She hung up.
May you like
I stood in the center of the penthouse, my heart racing. I knew it was a trap. Every instinct told me to call Alexander, who was currently in a high-level meeting with the district attorney. But the mention of my father’s journals—the potential proof that his death wasn't natural—was a bait I couldn't ignore.
I left a note on the kitchen counter for Alexander, slipped a small pocket knife into my coat, and headed down to the garage.
