Chapter 13 - The Mask Falls
"Guard! Security!" Vivian shrieked, her composed exterior shattering instantly as she scrambled backward in her chair, pointing a manicured finger at Elena. "Remove this impostor! She’s a fraud! She died five years ago!"
The two men at the door didn't move an inch. One of them stepped forward into the light of the chandelier, revealing the calm, scarred face of Marcus. He locked the double doors from the inside, dropping the heavy brass key into his suit pocket.
"Your private security detail was relieved of their duties in the lobby, Miss Vance," Marcus said quietly. "You are completely on your own tonight."
Julian ignored his sister entirely. He stumbled forward, his hands reaching out toward Elena before stopping inches from her arms, afraid that if he touched her, she would vanish like a mirage. "Elena... they found your car by the river. There was so much blood. The police said you... why didn't you come to me? Why did you hide?"
Elena finally turned her gray eyes toward her husband. The look she gave him was so icy it made him step back. "Why didn't I come to you, Julian? Because on the night your sister locked me in the executive boardroom and hunted me like an animal to kill your unborn son, you were on a plane to Zurich, leaving your pregnant wife completely unprotected in a viper's nest!"
"Hunted you?" Julian gasped, turning his head slowly toward Vivian, his face contorting with shock and confusion. "Vivian... what is she talking about? You told me Elena suffered a psychotic break! You said she drove off the bridge because of postpartum depression!"
"She's lying!" Vivian screamed, though her voice cracked with desperation as she tried to gather her purse. "She's a manipulative gold-digger, Julian! She orchestrated this whole thing to steal the company!"
Elena reached out and flipped open the leather dossier on the table. She tapped a finger against a high-resolution photograph. It was a digital still taken from the security cameras of the twenty-fourth-floor stairwell five years ago—showing Vivian holding a heavy iron golf club, her face twisted in rage as she commanded armed guards to breach the floor.
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"I spent five years recovering the deleted cloud backups from Pinnacle’s servers, Vivian," Elena said softly, leaning over the table. "Every email, every wire transfer to the hitmen, every bribe paid to the medical examiner to sign a fake death certificate. The French authorities, the FBI, and the SEC have all received copies of this file ten minutes ago."
Julian stared at the photograph of his sister holding the weapon, his breathing turning shallow and erratic as five years of manufactured grief shattered into blinding, murderous rage.
