Chapter 12 - The Screaming in the North Wing
The wrought-iron gates of the Harrison estate stood wide open, illuminated by the blinding white halogen searchlights of three security cruisers.
Two armed guards in tactical gear saluted sharply as our Mercedes blew through the gates at seventy miles per hour, spraying gravel against the manicured hedges.
The sprawling Mediterranean villa, usually bathed in the soft, welcoming glow of ambient landscape lighting, looked like an occupied fortress under siege.
We screeched to a halt beside the circular fountain where, only nine hours earlier, my humiliation had been served for the entertainment of Los Angeles high society.
The ruined banquet tables were still visible in the darkness, the overturned chairs and shattered crystal reflecting the emergency strobes of the patrol units.
Richard jumped from the vehicle before it had even settled, his tailored suit coat whipping in the cool canyon wind as he took the stone steps three at a time.
Daniel and I followed in lockstep, our footsteps echoing against the massive limestone columns of the front portico.
The towering oak double doors stood ajar, the security keypad shattered and dangling by its copper wires from the wall.
From deep within the sprawling corridors of the mansion’s north wing, the sound of splintering wood and hysterical screaming pierced the silence.
“Where is she?” Richard demanded of the security captain who was standing guard near the grand spiral staircase with a taser drawn.
“She barricaded herself inside your private library, sir,” the captain reported quickly, his breath hitching in his chest.
“She found an antique fire axe from the basement boiler room and hacked through the interior double doors.”
“We didn't breach the room because we didn't have executive authorization to use lethal force, and she threatened to torch the filing archives.”
“Give me that,” Richard said coldly, reaching out and taking the heavy steel master override key from the captain’s hand.
We crossed the polished marble foyer, our shadows stretching long and menacing beneath the chandeliers that had witnessed three years of quiet abuse.
When we reached the threshold of the two-story private library, the scene before us was pure, unadulterated madness.
The antique leather-bound books that had belonged to my mother were scattered across the floor like discarded rubbish.
Drawers had been pulled violently from the antique mahogany desk, their contents dumped into a chaotic heap near the marble hearth.
Vanessa stood in the center of the devastation, her crimson designer gown ripped at the shoulder and streaked with soot and printer ink.
Her once-immaculate platinum hair was wild and tangled around her pale, sweat-streaked face, and her manicured hands were coated in black ash.
In her right hand, she gripped a heavy brass fireplace poker, while her left clutched a smoldering stack of offshore accounting statements.
She froze the instant she saw my father, her bloodshot eyes darting toward the open balcony doors before realizing the terrace was surrounded by armed guards.
“Stay away from me, Richard!” Vanessa shrieked, swinging the poker in an erratic arc through the air.
“You have no right to keep me locked in this house like an animal!”
“You think you can ruin me? You think you can call your federal friends and put me in a cage?”
Richard didn't flinch, taking two slow, calculated strides into the room that forced Vanessa to take a terrified step backward into the desk.
“You are already in a cage, Vanessa,” Richard said, his tone devoid of any human warmth.
“Marcus Vance has just been formally arrested by the United States Attorney’s Office for corporate espionage, judicial bribery, and wire fraud.”
“He was in handcuffs fifteen minutes ago, and the very first words out of his mouth were an offer to surrender every communication you ever sent him.”
Vanessa’s jaw dropped, her grip on the brass poker loosening as the color drained completely from her lips.
“Marcus... Marcus wouldn't,” she stammered, her voice dropping into a horrified whimper.
“He promised me immunity; he told me the ex parte order was ironclad!”
“Marcus threw you to the wolves the moment the cuffs snapped around his wrists,” Daniel stated, stepping beside me with his tablet held high.
“He provided the digital decryption keys to your Swiss intermediary accounts before the elevator even reached the lobby.”
“The federal agents know about the five million dollars wired from an account registered to Victoria Ashford in Zurich.”
At the sound of that name, Vanessa gasped as if she had been plunged into freezing water, dropping the poker to the floor with a deafening metallic clatter.
She collapsed onto the Persian rug, clutching her head in her hands as hysterical sobs wracked her trembling frame.
“She told me it was simple,” Vanessa wailed, rocking back and forth among the ruined papers of my father’s life.
“Victoria said Emily was an arrogant brat who needed to be broken so she wouldn't interfere with the restructuring!”
“She said Richard would divorce me anyway once the company went public, and that my only chance at a real settlement was to control Emily’s trust!”
I stepped forward, looking down at the woman who had spent three years making me feel like a stranger in my own home.
“You threw a cake in my face to trigger a panic attack,” I said, my voice steady, clear, and ringing with absolute authority.
“You invited twenty-five of the most influential people in the city so they would testify that I was out of control.”
Vanessa looked up at me, her eyes filled with a pathetic mixture of terror and lingering venom.
“Victoria wanted you locked away in a private sanitarium in Switzerland where you would never see the light of day,” Vanessa whispered, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“She told me that as long as Eleanor’s blood was free, she would never have true peace.”
Richard walked over to the desk, pulled the burning papers from the hearth, and dropped them into a bronze urn to extinguish the flames.
He turned back to the trembling woman on the floor, his piercing blue eyes fixed upon her with absolute finality.
“Where is Victoria tonight?” Richard asked softly, the quietness of his voice far more terrifying than any shout.
Vanessa stared at him, tears cutting tracks through the soot on her cheeks.
“She’s in Malibu,” Vanessa choked out, pointing a trembling hand toward the coastline.
“She chartered a private compound on the bluffs of Point Dume under a shell corporation called Obsidian Marine.”
“She’s waiting for the sunrise wire confirmation of Emily’s trust transfer before boarding a private jet to Singapore.”
Richard nodded once toward the security captain standing in the doorway.
May you like
“Handcuff her to the radiator until the LAPD transport arrives,” my father instructed, his voice as cold as ice.
“Then notify the harbor patrol and the federal marshals that we are heading to Point Dume.”
