Chapter 7 - A Desperate Knock in the Midnight Rain
By midnight, a torrential downpour was hammering against the glass of my penthouse in Tribeca.
The city lights below were blurred into streaks of neon and gold through the streaming rainwater. I sat on the Italian leather sofa, dressed in a silk robe, reviewing the preliminary acquisition reports for the Vance assets.
The doorbell rang.
Not the polite chime of a guest, but the frantic, continuous hammering of someone who was losing their mind.
I walked to the hallway monitor. The high-definition camera at the private elevator vestibule showed Preston Vance.
He looked like a drowned rat. His clothes were soaked through, clinging to his shivering frame. His face was bruised—likely from an altercation with the security guards who had evicted him from his townhouse two hours ago. He was weeping openly, pressing his forehead against the heavy steel door.
I pressed the intercom button. "You have thirty seconds to leave my floor, Preston, before private security removes you."
"Victoria! Please! For the love of God, open the door!" he screamed, his voice muffled by the intercom. "I have nowhere else to go! They changed the locks on the townhouse! Eleanor is at her sister's house and she won't even answer my calls! My credit cards are declined! I don't even have money for a hotel room!"
I stood in the warm, quiet foyer of my multi-million-dollar home, listening to him beg.
"Where is Lily, Preston?" I asked calmly. "Surely your 'soulmate' who understands you so deeply has opened her arms to shelter you."
A ragged, choking sob came through the speaker.
"Lily is gone," he wept. "She took the four million from our secondary account... she went to the airport... but the police arrested her at the terminal! The FBI is charging her with wire fraud and corporate embezzlement! She used me, Victoria! She played me from the beginning! You were right! You were right about everything!"
"I know I was right," I said.
"Please, Victoria!" Preston pounded his fists against the door, the sound thudding rhythmically. "I made a mistake! A horrible, stupid mistake! But we can fix this! I love you! I will sign any prenup you want! I will give you full control of every asset! Just let me in... please, it’s freezing out here... I don't have anyone else..."
I looked at the monitor. Fourteen months ago, I had looked at this man and thought he was my partner. I had thought his laughter was genuine, his promises sincere. I had been willing to invest fifty-three million dollars to save his pride.
And all it took was one night for him to throw it all away for a cheap illusion.
"Preston," I said softly.
He stopped banging, pressing his ear to the speaker. "Yes? Victoria? Are you opening the door?"
"Do you remember what you said to me this morning in my foyer?"
He hesitated, his breath catching. "I... I was angry, I didn't mean it..."
"'Don't think your money can keep a real man,'" I quoted, each word dripping with cold, crystalline finality. "You were correct. My money did not keep you. But it did buy the locks on every door you will ever try to open again."
"Victoria! No! Please!"
I pressed the master override button on the wall console. The private elevator behind him dinged, its doors sliding open. Two uniformed security guards stepped out, their faces stern and uncompromising.
"Mr. Vance," the lead guard said, placing a heavy hand on his soaked shoulder. "Time to go."
"Get off me! Victoria! Victoria!"
His screams faded down the elevator shaft as the heavy steel doors slid shut, sealing the penthouse in absolute, unbroken peace.
I walked back to the living room, picked up my glass of Pinot Noir, and looked out over the glittering expanse of Manhattan.
My phone lit up on the coffee table.
A text from Julian:
He’s in the lobby. My guards are escorting him to the street. Are you alright?
I looked at the screen, a genuine, warm smile touching my lips for the first time all day.
May you like
Never better, I typed back. Shall we discuss the restructuring over breakfast tomorrow?
Seven o'clock, Julian replied immediately. I’ll bring the contracts. And the champagne.
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