Chapter 3 - The Gathering StormBy the third day, the tension inside the mansion was palpable.
Adrian refused to eat the meals prepared by our staff, terrified that the people he had spent years mistreating were now loyal only to me. He spent eighteen hours a day locked in his private study, the frantic clicking of his keyboard echoing through the heavy oak door.
I stood in the hallway, watching the shadow of his figure pacing back and forth behind the frosted glass.
His mother, Celeste, descended the grand staircase, her silk robe trailing behind her. She stopped when she saw me, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom. "You think you’re clever, don't you, Clara? You think this little stunt with your father’s old guards is going to save you? When the board hears about your 'relapse,' they will remove you themselves."
"The board isn't going to hear about a relapse, Celeste," I said, turning to face her. "The board is currently reviewing the forensic audit of Vale-Carter Capital. And by this afternoon, they will be reviewing your personal bank statements as well."
Celeste’s hand tightened around the banister. "My statements? I have nothing to do with Adrian’s business."
"Then why did you receive a monthly transfer of eighty thousand dollars from a shell company registered as 'VC Consulting'?" I asked, stepping closer. "A company that has no office, no employees, and whose only registered agent is Vanessa?"
Celeste’s face pale. The haughty, aristocratic confidence she wore like armor began to crack. "That... that was an investment return."
"That was embezzled investor capital," I corrected her, my voice low and steady. "And under federal law, receiving those funds makes you an active co-conspirator to grand larceny. I suggest you start packing your bags, Celeste. Because this house is registered under the Carter trust, and your lease is officially expired."
Without waiting for her reply, I walked away, leaving her standing on the stairs in shocked, terrified silence.
I walked into the kitchen, where my father’s old head of security, a gruff, loyal man named Marcus, was reviewing the surveillance feeds.
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"He's trying to reach Vanessa on a burner phone, Ms. Carter," Marcus said, referring to me by my maiden name. "We intercepted the signal. He’s planning to meet her at a private hangar at the executive airport tonight at midnight."
"Let him go," I said. "But make sure the federal investigators are waiting for him when he arrives."
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