«Federal Bureau of Investigation! Nobody move!» the lead agent barked, his voice echoing off the high ceilings like a thunderclap.
Victoria froze mid-lunge, her talon-like fingers hovering inches from Elena’s face. Her chest heaved, her face twisted in rage, but the sight of dark tactical jackets and drawn sidearms forced her to slowly retract her hands. Society patrons scattered, knocking over pedestals and trampling through shattered glass to pressed back against the far walls.
Julian, still sprawled awkwardly on the wet epoxy floor and drenched in melted ice water, scrambled backward like a panicked crab. «Agent Vance! Thank God you’re here,» Julian stammered, pointing a trembling finger toward Elena. «Arrest her! She stole proprietary company data and assaulted us!»
Agent Vance didn’t even glance at Julian. Instead, his sharp, dark eyes swept the room before locking onto Victoria. «Victoria Sterling, you are under arrest for federal securities fraud, grand larceny, and the conspiracy to commit murder.»
Victoria’s jaw dropped. The color drained completely from her flushed face, leaving her looking hollowed out and suddenly ancient. «Murder? You’re insane! I haven’t killed anyone!»
«We aren’t talking about tonight, Victoria,» Agent Vance said calmly, stepping forward as two officers flanked her, snapping heavy steel handcuffs around her manicured wrists. «We’re talking about Marcus Vance—my father. The man whose car went off the cliff twenty years ago when he threatened to expose your offshore accounts.»
A collective gasp rippled through the gallery. Elena’s hand tightened over the encrypted flash drive in her palm. Her mind raced—she had known Victoria was ruthless, but murder? Julian’s face turned an ashen grey on the floor. He hadn’t just been running a fraudulent financial empire; he was living under the roof of a killer.
«You have no proof,» Victoria spat, though her knees buckled slightly as the agents held her upright.
«We didn’t until twenty minutes ago,» Agent Vance replied, turning his gaze directly to Elena. «When an anonymous donor uploaded the missing page of Marcus Vance’s ledger to our secure server.»
Elena felt her blood run cold. An anonymous donor? She had held the flash drive in her hand the entire evening—she hadn’t sent anything yet. Someone else had access to the Sterling files. Someone inside their inner circle.
Julian scrambled to his feet, wiping soup residue from his soaked silk shirt, his eyes darting frantically toward the gallery exit. «Look, Vance, whatever my mother did, I had no part in it! I was just following her instructions—»
«Save it for your attorney, Julian,» Vance interrupted coldly, nodding to the remaining officer, who immediately stepped up to handcuff Julian as well.
As the officers dragged Victoria and Julian toward the glass entrance, Julian turned his head, locking eyes with Elena. The arrogance was gone, replaced by pure, desperate terror. «Elena, please! Think about our child! You can’t let them do this to me!»
«You made your choice an hour ago, Julian,» Elena whispered, her voice steady and merciless. «I’m making mine now.»
She watched as her husband and mother-in-law were shoved into the back of separate black SUVs waiting outside in the pouring rain. The gallery fell into an eerie, suffocating quiet, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic tapping of rain against the glass. The remaining guests quietly slipped away into the night, desperate to distance themselves from the Sterling downfall.
Elena let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging as the adrenaline began to fade. She placed both hands over her baby bump, feeling the warm, steady kick of her child. It was over. The Sterling empire was dead, and she was finally free.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she pulled the device out. The screen lit up with an unsaved, blocked number. A text message sat on the display:
‘You played your part perfectly, Elena. The drive in your pocket is a decoy. Look at your right wrist.’
Elena’s head snapped down. The faint red mark where Victoria had grabbed her hair earlier was swelling, but right beside her inner wrist, barely visible under the green satin sleeve, was a tiny, pinpoint puncture mark—dropping a single bead of dark, thick blood onto her skin.
Her phone buzzed again immediately.
Her phone buzzed again immediately.
‘You have 12 hours to bring the real ledger to the lighthouse on Blackwood Point. Or the neurotoxin in your bloodstream activates. Don’t tell the feds. Your baby won’t survive the antidote if you’re late.’