Chapter 8: The Contingency
Upstairs in the master suite, Victoria tore the drawers of her vanity completely out, hurling them across the room. Expensive cosmetics and jewelry scattered across the silk carpets, but the leather notebook was gone.
"That wretched, thieving rat," she hissed, her chest heaving.
She paced the length of the room, her mind racing. If Ethan had the ledger, her entire empire would crumble by sunrise. She would be penniless, imprisoned, and humiliated. She could not let them leave this house.
Victoria snatched the telephone from her nightstand and dialed a private number. It rang only once.
"Dr. Aris," she snapped, not bothering with pleasantries. "The timeline has moved up. My husband is experiencing a severe, violent psychotic break. He is a danger to himself and the boy."
"Tonight, Mrs. Vance? It will cost double to mobilize my handlers at this hour," the slick, heavily accented voice replied.
May you like
"I will pay you triple. Just get your men to the estate immediately. Come through the rear service gates."
She slammed the phone down and walked over to her husband’s antique armoire. Reaching behind a stack of folded cashmere sweaters, her hand wrapped around the cold, silver-plated grip of a .38 caliber revolver. She checked the cylinder, a cold smile touching her lips. If Ethan wanted to play the protective patriarch, she would simply have to ensure he died a tragic hero, defending his home from a home invasion gone wrong.
