Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Ambush
Down in the main study, the digital clock ticked silently toward 9:00 AM.
The heavy mahogany doors were locked from the inside. Outside, the estate staff moved in hushed, nervous whispers, sensing that the storm clouds gathering over the Newport mansion were about to break.
Inside the study, Dominic sat behind his mother’s old oak desk. Across from him sat Emma, her fingers flying over a secondary laptop screen linked directly to the estate’s local network.
“He just left Natalie’s nursery,” Emma said quietly, her eyes glued to the security monitor displaying the second-floor hallway. “Marcus tried to force her to sign an illegal relocation waiver for the east cottage. He’s pushing ahead with the transfer sequence right now.”
Dominic didn't look at the screen. He was methodically loading a fresh clip into his Sig Sauer, the metallic clack-clack echoing sharply in the quiet room. He slid the weapon into his holster, buttoned his vest, and looked up.
“Is the sandbox server active?” Dominic asked.
“Fully active,” Emma nodded, a grim smile touching her lips. “Every keystroke Marcus makes on the library terminal is currently being mirrored, recorded, and routed straight to the federal magistrate in Providence, along with the original probate documents proving ownership belongs to Natalie.”
Dominic stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “Good. Let’s go see how our dear lawyer handles a federal audit.”
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Up in the grand east wing library, sunlight streamed through the towering stained-glass windows, illuminating floating dust motes in the air.
Marcus Vance sat at the mahogany partner’s desk, his fingers tapping a frantic rhythm against the mechanical keyboard. On the screen before him, the probate transfer protocol was blinking green: “READY FOR FINAL EXECUTION.”
All he had to do was click the confirmation button, and the east cottage—along with three million dollars in liquid trust funds—would be reassigned to Brooke’s offshore shell corporation, triggering a massive payout for his own consulting firm in Boston.
He smiled, leaning back in the leather chair. It was almost too easy. Dominic Vance was a brilliant criminal strategist, but he was blinded by family loyalty and bridal distractions.
Marcus raised his index finger toward the mouse, hovering over the red ‘EXECUTE’ icon.
Click.
The screen flashed violently. Instead of the success confirmation banner, a massive red warning banner splashed across the monitor:
“CRITICAL ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED PROXY ACCESS DETECTED. FEDERAL ASSET FREEZE INITIATED.”
Marcus froze. His breath caught in his throat. “What… what is this?” he muttered, hammering the backspace key.
“ACCESS DENIED. IP ADDRESS LOGGED: PROVIDENCE FEDERAL DISTRICT COURT.”
Before Marcus could even stand up, the heavy oak doors of the library slammed open with a deafening crash.
Marcus spun around in his chair.
Dominic Vance stood in the doorway. He wasn't alone. Two federal marshals in dark tactical vests flanked him on either side, their hands resting casually near their service weapons. Behind them stood Emma, holding a portable data recorder that was blinking a steady, mocking blue.
Marcus’s face turned the color of chalk. He stumbled backward out of the chair, his legs tangling in the desk rug, sending him crashing hard against the bookshelves. Books tumbled down around him in a chaotic heap.
“M-Mr. Mercer!” Marcus stammered, scrambling to his feet, his hands shaking so violently he couldn't find a place to put them. “I—I thought you were in Boston! The—the system—it’s a glitch, I swear to God, someone hacked the terminal—!”
Dominic walked slowly into the room. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't look angry. He looked like an executioner walking up to a condemned prisoner.
“A glitch, Marcus?” Dominic asked softly, stopping three feet from the terrified lawyer. He reached down, picked up a fallen leather-bound book, and tossed it onto the desk. “Strange. The federal magistrate in Providence seemed to think it was a very precise, very illegal wire fraud.”
Marcus swallowed hard, sweat beading heavily on his forehead. He looked desperately toward the hallway, as if expecting Brooke or her father to magically appear and save him. “Dom… please. We’ve been friends for eight years! Brooke asked me to look over the paperwork, she said you approved the restructuring—!”
“Brooke doesn't own this estate, Marcus,” Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping into a cold, lethal register. “And neither do you.”
Dominic nodded slightly toward the federal marshals.
Step forward, the agents moved with swift, practiced efficiency. They grabbed Marcus by both arms, spinning him around and slamming his hands onto the mahogany desk before slapping a pair of heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
“Marcus Vance, you are under arrest for federal wire fraud, conspiracy to commit probate forgery, and unauthorized access to protected estate assets,” the lead marshal barked, reading him his rights as Marcus let out a pathetic, muffled sob.
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As they dragged the weeping lawyer past Dominic toward the doorway, Dominic didn't even give him a second glance. His dark eyes were fixed on the open doorway down the hall, where a familiar scent of designer perfume was rapidly approaching.
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