Chapter 5 - The War for Vanguard
The emergency board meeting ended at 6:45 p.m., but the real war was only beginning.
Within forty minutes of Richard’s suspension, the news hit Bloomberg. The headline was devastating: *STERLING OUSTED AT VANGUARD AMID PATERNITY SCANDAL AND AUDIT PROBE.* By 7:30 p.m., trading on Vanguard stock was temporarily halted after another nine percent vanished in after-hours markets.
I didn't stay to watch the financial news channels dissect his downfall.
I took the service elevator down to the private garage, where Nora was waiting in the town car. As the vehicle pulled out into the cool evening air, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from an unknown number.
I answered and put it on speaker.
“Julianna?”
It was Chloe.
Her voice wasn't the silky, mocking instrument that had told me my children were an inconvenience six hours earlier. It was ragged, shrill, and trembling with an edge of pure terror. The background noise sounded like an apartment being frantically ransacked—the slam of wardrobe doors, the clatter of hangers, items being shoved into suitcases.
“Chloe,” I said calmly. “You shouldn't be calling this number. Any communication regarding your trust proxy must go through Marcus Vance.”
“Marcus won't answer his phone!” she screamed into the receiver. “That coward blocked my number! Julianna, listen to me—you have to tell the police that Donald didn't know anything about Aegis Maritime! They just raided his townhouse in Queens! They took his laptops! Donald was only doing what Richard told him to do!”
“Donald signed ninety-four fraudulent commercial invoices, Chloe,” I replied, looking out at the city lights reflecting across the dark surface of the river. “He took three million dollars in illicit consulting fees over eighteen months. He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Richard is going to kill me!” she sobbed, dropping into a frantic, hyperventilating rhythm. “He came back to the penthouse an hour ago. He was like a madman, Julianna! He smashed the nursery furniture. He threw all my clothes into the hallway. He told me that if I don’t sign a waiver giving up the forty percent trust, he’ll make sure I leave this city in a body bag!”
I closed my eyes for a brief moment. A familiar, dark knot tightened in my stomach.
I knew that side of Richard. I had seen the cold, venomous rage that emerged whenever his control was threatened. For seven years, I had learned how to walk on eggshells, how to absorb his verbal cruelties, how to ensure that Matthew and Lily were kept far away whenever the corporate pressures pushed him past his breaking point. Chloe had thought she was replacing me; she hadn't realized she was simply volunteering to be the next target in the firing line.
“Are you in the penthouse right now?” I asked.
“I’m locked in the guest bathroom!” she cried, her voice muffled as though she were hiding behind a marble counter. “He’s outside the door! He’s trying to kick it in! Julianna, please—call someone! Call the building security! They won't listen to me—they work for him!”
Nora looked over at me, her eyes wide, her phone already hovering over the emergency dispatch dial.
I didn't hesitate. Whatever Chloe had done, whatever cruelty she had directed at my children that morning, I was not going to let Richard Sterling settle his score with violence while a child—whoever the father was—was still inside her.
“Nora,” I said quietly. “Call the precinct commander on 19th Street. Tell him Richard Sterling is currently committing felony domestic assault at the Sterling Tower penthouse. Have them send three cars immediately.”
“On it,” Nora said, her fingers flying across her screen.
“Chloe,” I spoke into the phone, my voice dropping into an authoritative, unyielding tone. “Listen to me carefully. Put down whatever you are packing. Turn on the voice recorder on your phone. Stay inside that bathroom and do not open the door until you hear the police sirens. Do you understand me?”
“Julianna... why are you helping me?” she wept, her breath coming in ragged gasps through the speaker. “After everything I said to you this morning... after the check...”
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“I’m not helping you, Chloe,” I answered coldly. “I’m preserving the evidence. Every kick he lands on that door is another ten years added to his sentence. Be smart for once in your life and let him destroy himself completely.”
***
