Chapter 3 - The Uninvited Guest
The service stairs led straight to the butler's pantry, a narrow corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling glass cabinets filled with fine china. The air smelled of roasted coffee and wet dish towels.
I slipped past the kitchen staff, who were busy clearing the remnants of the brunch buffet. None of them paid attention to me; to them, I was just another guest wandering around the sprawling estate. I exited through the side door leading to the stone driveway, where twenty-two high-end luxury vehicles were parked in neat rows.
My black Range Rover sat near the oak grove at the edge of the property. I pulled my secondary key fob from my bag, unlocked the doors remotely, and stowed my backpack securely under the rear floorboard.
I didn't drive away. Leaving now would make me a fleeing victim, and victims get dragged into drawn-out legal battles where wealthy families buy delay tactics. I was not going to play defense. I was going to execute a hostile takeover.
I walked back toward the front terrace, keeping to the shade of the tall boxwood hedges. Through the tall French doors of the main dining hall, I could see the Sterling family gathered around the long mahogany table. Derek sat at the head, pouring champagne for his uncles, while Brenda held court at the opposite end, boasting about their upcoming real estate expansion in downtown Hartford.
None of them knew that the expansion project—a $12 million commercial acquisition—was built entirely on subprime debt issued by a predatory lender out of Jersey City. A lender that happened to be under active investigation by the state attorney general’s office.
I pulled out my phone and placed a call to a private number.
"Chloe?" the sharp, authoritative voice of Victoria Sterling answered on the second ring.
Victoria was Derek’s estranged aunt, the former managing partner of the family firm before Derek’s father and Brenda had ousted her in a hostile board coup six years ago. She was brilliant, ruthless, and possessed a hatred for Brenda that burned hotter than a solar flare.
"Victoria," I said calmly, leaning against the cold stone of the hedge wall. "The brunch is still happening."
"I assumed as much," Victoria replied dryly. "Did my dear nephew reveal his true colors yet?"
"Fourteen hours post-ceremony," I said. "A dish towel to the face, a command to get on my knees, and an emergency deadbolt locking me in the master bedroom."
A low, dangerous chuckle came through the speaker. "Classic Brenda playbook. She used the exact same tactic on Arthur before they stripped his voting stock. Did he attempt the wire transfer?"
"Ten minutes ago," I said. "He tried to siphon my holding account using a forged POA."
"Foolish boy," Victoria sighed, the sound of ice clinking in her glass audible over the line. "He doesn't realize you audited federal banks for a living. Where are you now?"
"In the garden," I said. "I unlocked the door, isolated my funds, and uploaded the forged documents to FinCEN."
"Outstanding," Victoria said, her tone sharpening into pure, tactical delight. "My town car is pulling up to the main gate right now, Chloe. I have the injunction papers signed by Judge Miller, as well as the receiver's authorization for the family estate. Shall we give my family a proper wedding present?"
"I'll open the front doors for you," I said softly.
May you like
I walked up the front steps of the mansion, straightened the collar of my silk dress, and pushed open the massive double doors of the grand foyer.
The sound of my heels striking the marble floor echoed through the house like gunshots. Down the hall, the laughter in the dining room abruptly ceased.
