Chapter 8 - Sunday Morning at the Estate
The Hale estate sat behind massive wrought-iron gates in the hills overlooking the city, a sprawling manor of grey stone and manicured hedges that looked more like a European embassy than a family home.
My sedan idled quietly by the security intercom. A private guard in a sharp navy uniform peered out from the gatehouse camera, frowning when he recognized my license plate.
"Mrs. Hale," the guard's voice crackled through the speaker, tight with professional warning. "You are not authorized on these premises. Please turn your vehicle around immediately, or local law enforcement will be dispatched for trespassing."
I didn't bother using the intercom. I reached into my glove compartment, pulled out the official state securities enforcement badge Marcus had couriered to me an hour earlier, and pressed it flat against the glass of my driver’s side window facing the camera.
"Tell Mrs. Hale and Mr. Hale that Captain Amelia Carter is here with a representative from the state attorney general's office," I spoke clearly into the air. "And if they don't open these gates in sixty seconds, we execute the federal asset seizure warrant for the entire estate instead of serving it quietly at the front door."
The intercom sputtered with static. For thirty agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then, with a heavy, mechanical hum, the massive iron gates slowly swung inward, revealing the long, cobblestone driveway leading up to the grand double doors of the manor.
David swallowed hard from the passenger seat, gripping the handle of his briefcase like a lifeline. "Are you sure this isn't an overreach, Amelia? If Judge Morrison finds out we bypassed her civil court jurisdiction—"
"Judge Morrison's civil court has jurisdiction over the divorce proceedings, David. The state attorney general's office has jurisdiction over multi-million-dollar securities fraud," I said, putting the car in drive and rolling forward. "Vivian wanted a quiet war behind closed doors. We're bringing the daylight."
We parked right in front of the grand marble steps. Before I could even kill the engine, the front doors swung open.
Preston stepped out first, looking disheveled in a silk bathrobe, his hair uncombed and his face pale with fury. Right behind him stood Vivian, immaculate as always in a cream-colored knit sweater and tailored slacks, though her eyes were narrowed into cold, dangerous slits.
I stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me with a sharp sound that echoed across the courtyard.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Preston shouted, marching down the marble steps toward me, his hands clenched into fists. "Showing up here like a lunatic with your stolen documents—I'm calling the police right now! You're violating a restraining order!"
"You might want to check your phone first, Preston," I said, stopping a few feet away from the base of the steps, my posture ramrod straight. "Your lead attorney, Martin Voss, has spent the last ten minutes trying to reach you because his office just received an emergency administrative freeze on every corporate and private trust account bearing your mother's maiden name."
Preston stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at me, his mouth opening slightly, before looking back toward the doorway where Vivian stood frozen.
May you like
Vivian slowly descended the steps, her gaze locked entirely on me. The polite, patronizing smile she had worn the night before in my apartment hallway was gone, replaced by a mask of pure, unbridled malice.
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