Chapter 3 - The Luxury Penthouse
That night, I didn't stay in a cheap hotel or crawl back to a small apartment like Beatrice and Vanessa assumed I would.
Arthur drove me to the top tier of the Grand Horizon Towers in downtown Manhattan. The glass elevator carried us up sixty-five floors to a sprawling, twelve-thousand-square-foot penthouse overlooking the glittering city skyline.
This was Terrence’s private sanctuary—a property he had acquired years ago under an anonymous holding company, a place where neither his mother nor his sister had ever set foot.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, holding a hot cup of chamomile tea. The storm outside had cleared, leaving behind a night sky filled with sharp, bright stars.
On the dining room table behind me rested six black leather binders containing the complete financial forensics audit of Caldwell Global Enterprises.
For three days prior to Terrence's funeral, while Beatrice was busy picking out custom diamond-encrusted mourning dresses and demanding the company pay for a fifty-thousand-dollar post-funeral banquet, Arthur and I had been working silently.
We unearthed thirty-seven million dollars in fraudulent corporate expense claims filed by Vanessa over four years.
We discovered that Beatrice had illegally taken out a fifteen-million-dollar mortgage against the Caldwell mansion to fund her failing luxury fashion boutique in Soho—a mortgage that was currently ninety days delinquent and facing immediate foreclosure.
They hadn't just mistreated me; they had systematically bled Terrence’s life work dry while treating him like a fool.
My phone rang on the glass counter. The caller ID displayed an unlisted number.
I answered and put it on speaker.
"Is this Elise?" a cold, sharp voice asked. It was Evelyn Sterling, Beatrice's closest high-society friend and the president of the Manhattan Heritage Board.
"Yes, Evelyn," I replied calmly.
"I saw the video Vanessa posted," Evelyn said, her tone dripping with fake pity and thinly veiled condescension. "I am calling to advise you not to make a scene or attempt to hire lawyers, dear. Beatrice has the full backing of the board and the Caldwell legacy attorneys. If you try to fight them for alimony or estate settlement, they will drag your name through the mud and expose your humble background to the press."
I smiled quietly into the empty penthouse.
"I have no intention of making a scene, Evelyn," I said smoothly.
"Good," Evelyn sniffed. "Because frankly, a former nurse who married up shouldn't expect to hold onto a dynasty. You had five good years living in luxury. You should be grateful for what you got and move on quietly."
"Thank you for the advice, Evelyn," I said. "Are you attending the emergency board meeting tomorrow?"
"Of course," she boasted. "I'll be sitting right in the front row next to Beatrice when she takes control of the company."
"Wonderful," I said. "I’ll make sure to save you a seat."
I ended the call before she could reply, set my phone down, and opened the first leather binder.
May you like
Terrence had spent his life building a business built on integrity, hard work, and genuine value. Beatrice and Vanessa treated it like a personal piggy bank and a social ladder.
Tomorrow at two o'clock, the audit would be complete. And the bill would finally be due.
