Chapter 242
There it was.
She had been assigned to the blood bank transport unit that night. She had the keys. She had access to the inventory logs.
I pulled up her medical file from the prison records I had hacked days ago.
Blood type: A positive.
She didn’t need the blood. She didn’t need it for herself, or for a relative. She knew my blood type was rare. She had checked the inventory.
She destroyed the supply on purpose.
It wasn’t negligence. It wasn’t an accident.
It was premeditated murder.
I slammed the laptop shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.
I didn’t cry. I was past crying. The fear that had gripped me in the nightmare evaporated, replaced by a rage so pure, so white-hot it felt like it could melt steel.
I walked to the closet. I bypassed the soft, comfortable clothes Harper had packed for me and reached for the black suit. Sharp shoulders. Tailored waist. It looked less like clothing and more like a weapon.
I dressed slowly, deliberately. Every button I fastened was a promise. Every zipper I pulled was a seal on their fate.
I went downstairs. Julian sat at the long dining table, picking at a piece of dry toast. He looked up as I entered and paused, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth.
“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” he observed.
“I am,” I said, my voice steady. “But not mine.”
I poured a cup of black coffee and drank it standing up. “I’m going to Sterling Manor. I’m taking the house back. Today.”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Arthur checked himself out of St. Jude’s against medical advice two hours ago. My sources say he’s back at the Manor. He’s shredding documents. Not the ones Liam forged—he knows those are already in the SEC’s hands. He’s destroying the records of the shadow ledger. The real money laundering he did for the Petrov syndicate to keep the company afloat while Liam was draining it.”
“He thinks he can hide the evidence,” I said, setting the cup down with a sharp clink. “He thinks because I saved him from Liam’s frame-up, I’m blind to his own sins. I’m not going there to find proof, Julian. I’m going there to watch him fall.”
“Do you want backup?” Julian asked.
𝘉𝗿𝗈𝗐𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝘺 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝖾𝘨𝗼𝗋у оn 𝗯e𝗹𝗻o𝘷𝘦l𝗌.𝗰оm
“I called Ms. Davies,” I said. “She’s coordinating with the federal prosecutor. The evidence you gave me last night? The encrypted transfers? It’s already in their inbox.”
Julian smiled. It was small, faint—but real.
“Ruthless.”
“I learned from the best,” I replied.
I walked out to the driveway. The black Rolls-Royce waited. The driver held the door open.
I slid into the leather seat. The smell of the interior reminded me of Liam’s cars, of the suffocating luxury I once thought was love. Now it just smelled like a battlefield.
“Sterling Manor,” I told the driver.
As the car pulled away, I dialed a number.
“Ms. Davies,” I said when she answered. “Is the FBI team in position?”
“They are five minutes out, Ms. Sterling,” her crisp voice replied. “They are waiting for your signal.”
“Good. Tell them to keep the sirens off until I give the word. I want to see the look on Arthur’s face before the handcuffs go on.”
The drive took twenty minutes. The iron gates of Sterling Manor loomed ahead. They were rusted, the gardens overgrown—a physical manifestation of Arthur’s rot.