Rain lashed against the tall bay windows of the Sterling study as the sleek silver sedan rolled to a halt just inside the wrought-iron gates.
Hannah pressed a trembling hand against the glass, squinting through the gray downpour as the passenger door swung open. A tall man in a tailored navy trench coat stepped out under a black umbrella, moving briskly up the stone walkway toward the mansion’s front portico.
“That’s Marcus Vance,” Hannah breathed, the color draining from her face as she turned back toward her father’s wheelchair. “Dad, he’s the Vice President of Finance at Sterling Industries. Why is he here?”
Arthur Sterling didn’t flinch. His weathered hands rested calmly on the armrests of his wheelchair, though his eyes narrowed into sharp, calculating slits. “Because rats always run back to the ship when they think the captain is dead, Hannah. Detective Miller—keep your men out of sight in the hallway for two minutes.”
Detective Miller gave a crisp nod, motioning for the uniformed officers to step behind the heavy oak doors just as rapid footsteps echoed across the marble foyer outside.
Seconds later, Marcus Vance strode into the study without knocking, shaking water from his umbrella before freezing dead in his tracks at the sight of Arthur sitting beside the mahogany desk.
“Arthur?” Marcus stammered, his umbrella clattering loudly onto the hardwood floor. “We… we were told the Coast Guard closed the file years ago! How are you—”
“Save the performance, Marcus,” Arthur interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like cold steel. He tapped a single bony finger against the bank audit sheet lying on the desk. “Three million dollars wired to a private Geneva holding company forty-eight hours ago. Authorized using my daughter’s private security credentials.”
Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously toward Hannah before snapping back to Arthur. “I came here the second the compliance server flagged it, Arthur! I swear on my life! Someone hacked Hannah’s terminal from inside the mansion’s private network three nights ago. I brought the server logs right here in my briefcase to prove she didn’t touch a dime of it!”
Hannah stared at him in stunned silence, her heart hammering against her ribs. “You… you’re defending me?”
“Of course I am,” Marcus said quickly, setting his leather briefcase onto the mahogany desk and popping the brass latches. “Evelyn and Richard tried to bribe me last month to sign off on liquidating your trust fund. When I refused, they threatened to frame you for the Geneva transfer instead.”
Arthur’s attorney leaned forward, adjusting his glasses as he examined the open briefcase. “Let’s see the server logs, Mr. Vance.”
As Marcus reached inside to pull out a thick manila folder, Arthur’s sharp eyes caught a glint of crimson wax peeking out from the inner lining of Marcus’s trench coat pocket—identical to the seal on the forged probate documents Evelyn had kept locked in the basement vault.
Before Marcus could lift the folder clear of the briefcase, Arthur leaned forward in his wheelchair and pressed a hidden button beneath the edge of the mahogany desk.
Heavy steel security shutters slammed down over every window and doorway in the study, trapping all five of them inside the wood-paneled room.
Marcus spun around in panic, his hand dropping instinctively toward his coat pocket. “Arthur, what is the meaning of this?!”
“You almost had me fooled, Marcus,” Arthur said softly, a cold, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Except for one small detail—Hannah never had a corporate security code to begin with.”
