Chapter 3 - The Downtown Penthouse and the Hidden Surveillance
At 8:45 p.m., Simone sat in the back of Marcus Kane’s tinted surveillance van, parked two blocks away from the luxury high-rise condominium on 4th and Elm. Francine sat beside her with a high-performance laptop, while Marcus adjusted the multi-angle audio-visual monitors mounted on the vehicle's interior wall.
“Cameras one through four are active,” Marcus stated quietly, putting on his headphones. “Living room, kitchen island, hallway, and master bedroom. Audio is crisp.”
On the central high-definition screen, the interior of the penthouse came into view. It was decorated with lavish, expensive minimalist furniture—all purchased with the money Harrison had stolen from Simone’s foundation accounts and their joint savings. On the marble kitchen island sat an open bottle of vintage 1996 Dom Pérignon champagne and two crystal flutes.
The electronic lock beeped on screen. The front door swung open.
Harrison walked in, carrying Natasha in his arms.
Natasha threw her head back, laughing hysterically, her arms wrapped tightly around Harrison’s neck. Harrison kicked the heavy oak door shut behind him, pressed Natasha roughly against the wall, and kissed her with a ferocity that made Francine gasp in disgust.
Simone didn't flinch. She watched the monitor with unblinking, analytical coldness.
“God, I’ve been waiting all day for this,” Harrison growled into Natasha’s neck, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the designer sofa.
“Did your saintly wife suspect anything when you told her you had a late board meeting?” Natasha purred, her hands sliding down Harrison’s chest, undoing his silk tie.
“Simone? Please,” Harrison scoffed arrogantly, pouring champagne into both flutes. “She’s totally clueless. She’s sitting at her sister’s house right now looking at baby rattle catalogs and pastel floral arrangements. She lives in a fantasy world. She has no idea how the real world operates.”
Natasha took a sip of champagne, smiling slyly over the rim of the glass. “And what about Sapphire Holdings? Did she notice the latest transfer from the foundation trust?”
“Not a penny,” Harrison laughed, wrapping his arms around Natasha’s waist from behind and kissing her bare shoulder. “Francine’s quarterly audit isn't due for another month, and by then, the $3 million transfer into your offshore accounts in the Caymans will be completely settled. Once the baby is born, I’ll file for sole custody, claim Simone is emotionally unstable and unfit, and take full control of the Blake Enterprises voting shares. You and I will have the company, the beach house in Miami, and $15 million in clean offshore liquid capital.”
Natasha turned in his arms, stroking his jawline with a wicked smile. “You’re ruthless, Harrison. You’d really take her baby away?”
“The baby is a Blake heir,” Harrison said coldly. “Simone is just the incubator. Once the child is born, Simone has outlived her usefulness. You’re the woman I want by my side when I take the CEO chair.”
Inside the surveillance van, Francine covered her mouth in absolute horror. “My God, Simone... he’s planning to steal your child and declare you insane.”
Simone’s knuckles gripped the edge of the desk so hard the skin turned gray, but her voice remained chillingly calm. “Marcus. Is every single syllable of this audio and video recording being backed up onto redundant cloud servers?”
“Three separate encrypted cloud servers and two physical solid-state drives,” Marcus confirmed without looking away from his monitors. “Every frame is time-stamped with GPS coordinates and legal chain-of-custody cryptographic hashes. It is one hundred percent admissible in both civil and federal criminal court.”
On the screen, Harrison picked Natasha up and carried her toward the master bedroom.
“Turn it off,” Simone said quietly.
Marcus muted the monitors and closed the live visual feed.
“Simone,” Francine whispered, her eyes wide with concern. “What do we do now? We have enough to file for divorce and put him through the wringer right this second.”
“No,” Simone answered, turning to look at Francine with eyes that burned like liquid nitrogen. “A regular divorce lets him hide behind his family’s high-priced mafia attorneys. A regular divorce lets him settle out of court for pennies on the dollar and spin the narrative in the press.”
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Simone stood up in the van, smoothing down her coat over her unborn daughter.
“He wants to steal my child and throw me in an asylum? Then I am going to tear his entire world down to the foundation. I’m going to take his money, his reputation, his family company, and his freedom. And I’m going to start with his father’s private safe.”
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