Chapter 3 - The War Cabinet
By the end of the first week, I was discharged from the hospital under heavy security.
I didn't return to the penthouse I had shared with Flynn. Instead, I moved into a secure, high-rise residence in Soho owned by my elder brother, Leo Hart.
Leo was thirty-four, a former federal prosecutor who now ran one of the most ruthless forensic corporate intelligence firms in the country. When he saw me step through his front door—pale, fragile, but standing upright—he didn't offer empty pity. He pulled me into a careful, protective hug, then led me straight into his private glass office.
On the walls of Leo’s office hung giant whiteboards covered in organizational flowcharts, corporate share structures, and surveillance photographs.
In the center was a photograph of Flynn Vance, and right beside it, a photograph of Selina Cole.
“The District Attorney has formally denied Flynn’s bail,” Leo began, sliding a tablet across the conference table to me. “His lawyers argued that he was a low flight risk, but we submitted the video evidence of his private jet being prepped at Teterboro Airport thirty minutes after the stabbing. Judge Vance held him without bail at Rikers Island pending trial.”
“What about Selina?” I asked, taking a sip of warm tea.
“Selina thinks she’s home free,” Leo smirked darkly. “She’s currently occupying Flynn’s private suite at the St. Regis, funded by a corporate credit line Flynn authorized before his arrest. But here is what she doesn't know...”
Leo tapped the screen of the tablet, displaying a series of encrypted bank transfers dated over the past six months.
“Selina didn't just come back into Flynn’s life six months ago because she missed her childhood sweetheart,” Leo revealed. “Selina Cole is three million dollars in debt to an offshore private equity group in Grand Cayman. She’s been funneling corporate secrets from Vance Global’s research division to a rival firm owned by a hedge fund manager named Victor Thorne.”
My jaw tightened. “Flynn was giving her access to corporate files?”
“Flynn was so blinded by his obsession with her that he gave her master administrative access to his corporate tablet,” Leo explained. “The scratch on her arm that afternoon? She didn't get that at your house, Mabel. Our team pulled the security footage from the garage of her apartment building. She scratched her own arm with a key in the elevator three minutes before arriving at your door.”
The sheer scope of the malice was staggering. She had self-inflicted a tiny mark, walked into my home, lied to a unstable man who worshiped her, and watched him plunge a knife into my stomach without batting an eye.
“She wanted me dead,” I realized, the truth settling in like ice. “If I died, Flynn would be devastated, but he would inherit my family’s trust shares. And with me out of the picture, Selina would have had full control over both Flynn and his fortune.”
“She miscalculated one thing, Mabel,” Leo said, leaning over the table, his eyes burning with cold ambition. “She thought you were just a soft, gentle girl who would bleed out quietly. She forgot who raised you.”
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“What’s the next move?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” Leo smiled, “we file the civil lawsuit. And we don't just sue Flynn. We sue Selina Cole, Vance Global, and Arthur Vance for civil conspiracy, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and wrongful death.”
