Chapter 6 - The Shadows of New York
Three months after the raid on Castle Dunraven, the world had transformed. The news media labeled the collapse of the Vance empire the "Scandal of the Century." The trial in New York had drawn international attention, but I spent little time watching the news feeds. I was where I belonged: sitting at the head of the mahogany boardroom table on the top floor of Sterling Tower in Manhattan.
"The board has voted unanimously," Señor Alvarez announced, closing a thick blue portfolio. "Every asset previously subverted by Vance Global Logistics has been fully reclaimed. The court-ordered restitutions have been paid out to the victims of Roderick’s medical labs, and Sterling Enterprises stock has surged to an all-time high."
"And the criminal proceedings?" I asked, looking out over the misty Manhattan skyline.
"Preston’s legal defense fell apart completely yesterday," Marcus chimed in from his seat across the table. "Sienna Miller took a full plea deal, testifying against both Preston and his mother. Preston is facing thirty years in a federal penitentiary without the possibility of parole. Eleanor was sentenced to fifteen years for financial conspiracy. As for Lord Roderick and Jean-Luc, the Swiss and Scottish high courts have ruled out any bail—they will spend the rest of their natural lives behind bars."
I let out a quiet breath. The legal system had done its job, but there was one final string left untied.
My phone rang. It was an encrypted line from the Federal Detention Center in lower Manhattan.
"Victoria," the raspy, broken voice on the line belonged to Preston Vance. "Please... don't hang up."
"You have two minutes, Preston," I said calmly.
"I’m begging you," he sobbed, his voice devoid of the arrogance that had defined him at the altar. "My lawyers said you have the power to reduce my prison transfer to a minimum-security facility. It’s a nightmare in here, Victoria! I can't survive thirty years! I was wrong... Roderick forced me! It was all Roderick!"
"You stood on my dress, Preston," I said, my voice dead set like iron. "You called me a bag of spare biological parts. You looked into my eyes and smiled while you signed my death warrant."
"I was stupid! I was confused! I loved you, Victoria!"
May you like
"You loved my bank account," I replied softly. "Enjoy your thirty years."
I pressed the red button, ending the call, and tossed the phone onto the desk. The chapter of Preston Vance was permanently closed.
