Chapter 7 - The Mistress on Payroll
"Who is Chloe Montgomery?" Marcus asked, his brow furrowing as he flipped through the invoices found inside the safe. "Is she an employee at Vance Logistics?"
"She was," I answered, a bitter taste rising in my mouth as the pieces snapped into place. "Three years ago, Vivian brought her to our Christmas charity gala. She introduced Chloe as the daughter of a dear, impoverished friend from Virginia. She begged me to give her a junior marketing role in our shipping division."
The documents told a sickening story.
Garrett hadn't just been stealing to fund his own ego. For thirty-six months, Vance Logistics had been paying a "logistics consulting retainer" of twenty-two thousand dollars a month to an LLC registered to Chloe Montgomery.
Worse still, the credit card statements revealed first-class flights to St. Barts, shopping sprees at Van Cleef & Arpels, and weekly grocery deliveries to the Miami penthouse—all paid directly from a corporate account I had signed over to Garrett when my father fell ill.
"Look at the dates, Marcus," I said, tapping the paper. "Last week, when Garrett claimed he was in Chicago dealing with railroad freight union strikes... he was in Miami with Chloe."
"And Vivian knew," Marcus said, disgust dripping from his words. "Vivian engineered it."
"Vivian didn't just know," I said, remembering the smirks, the patronizing remarks, the endless pressure Vivian had put on me about my inability to conceive during our second year of marriage. *"A real man needs a legacy, Claire. If a wife can’t provide comfort, she shouldn’t be surprised when he looks elsewhere."*
Vivian had hand-picked Chloe. She had chosen a compliant, younger woman whom she could control, intending to replace me entirely once the financial stripping of Vance Logistics was finalized.
My phone rang. It was Detective Miller.
"Mrs. Vance," Miller said, his tone urgent. "We just received a call from Garrett Sterling’s defense attorney. He claims Garrett has medical documentation proving severe cognitive impairment due to an untreated neurological condition, and they are filing an emergency motion to transfer him to a private psychiatric hospital instead of Rikers Island."
"Don't let him move, Detective," I said, staring at the hard drive in my hand. "I’m sending Marcus down to your precinct with a decrypted hard drive. You’re going to want to see the offshore accounts and the second passport he kept in his wall safe."
A low whistle came over the line. "A second passport? That just killed his psychiatric transfer. He’s going straight to the Tombs."
May you like
"Good," I said coldly. "And Detective? Tell the Miami field office of the FBI to pay a visit to 1400 Brickell Bay Drive. There’s an apartment full of Vance-funded assets that need to be impounded immediately."
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