Chapter 6 - CRACKS IN THE GILDED CAGE
The Lincoln Park penthouse had never felt so cold.
At seven o'clock that evening, the floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the sparkling lights of the Chicago skyline, but inside the four-thousand-square-foot luxury condo, the atmosphere was poisonous.
Amber stood in the center of the Italian marble kitchen, hurling a crystal tumbler into the sink. It shattered with an explosive *crack*, sending sparkling shards across the countertops.
"Seventy-five thousand dollars?!" she shrieked, her face contorted in an ugly, manic rage. "Seventy-five thousand dollars a year, Ryan?! My pilates instructor costs twelve hundred a month! My facialist is six hundred a week! How am I supposed to maintain my lifestyle on the salary of a common warehouse peasant?!"
Ryan was sitting at the kitchen island, clutching a bottle of Macallan 18, drinking straight from the neck. His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, his eyes vacant and bloodshot.
"Shut up, Amber," Ryan muttered darkly, taking another heavy swig. "Just shut the hell up. We still have the penthouse. We still have our names on the door. If I didn't sign that paper, the marshals would be packing our furniture into a truck right now."
"You handed her our balls on a silver platter!" Amber screamed, storming over to him, slamming her palms onto the quartz counter. "She owns us! That frumpy, pathetic little girl from Dayton owns our entire life! Do you know what she’s going to do to you? She is going to grind you into dust! She’s going to make you fetch her coffee while she parades around in five-thousand-dollar suits!"
Ryan slammed the whiskey bottle down onto the island, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim.
"She is not a frumpy little girl!" Ryan bellowed, rising to his feet, towering over Amber, his face turning an angry, mottled purple. "She is the majority shareholder of a five-billion-dollar industrial conglomerate! Did you see that building?! Did you see the lawyers jumping when she spoke?! She isn't playing games, Amber! She bought my eight-million-dollar note like she was buying a pack of gum!"
Amber recoiled slightly at Ryan’s sudden burst of violence, but her sneer returned instantly.
"And you let her," Amber hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You were so terrified of her you were shaking like a little boy. You actually asked to see the kid! God, you were pathetic! *'Can I see Leo?'*" she mocked in a high-pitched, whining falsetto. "You gave that kid away so you wouldn't have to pay child support, remember?! You told me you were a genius for getting out of it!"
Ryan flinched as if struck. The memory of Room 412 flashed across his mind—the sterile fluorescent lights, Olivia’s pale face, the tiny bundle wrapped in hospital blankets. He had called that child a mistake. He had called Olivia a dead weight.
If he had stayed... if he had just shown an ounce of basic human decency... he would be sitting at the head of Vance Global right now. He would be the master of that eighty-story glass tower. He would be commanding billions of dollars.
Instead, he was married to a shrieking, cosmetic parasite who was currently pricing divorce attorneys on her phone.
"She didn't build that," Ryan suddenly whispered, his eyes narrowing as a dark, paranoid thought took root in his alcohol-soaked brain.
Amber stopped glaring. "What?"
Ryan grabbed his glass, pacing across the hardwood floor toward the window. "Think about it, Amber. Thomas Parker was an uneducated machinist. He lived in a farmhouse with peeling paint! You don't build a five-billion-dollar empire out of an Ohio machine shop without someone else pulling the strings."
Amber frowned, crossing her arms. "What are you talking about?"
"Marcus Vance," Ryan said, his voice rising with erratic, desperate conviction. "Marcus Vance is seventy years old. He’s one of the most powerful private equity operators in North America. Olivia was twenty-six when her father died. Young. Vulnerable. Naive."
Ryan turned back to Amber, a sickening, triumphant grin spreading across his face.
"She didn't inherit that company. She’s Vance’s mistress! That’s what this is! Thomas Parker probably had some minor patents, and Marcus Vance took control of the trust and put Olivia in the front chair as his personal trophy! That South Sea pearl around her neck? Vance bought that! The ivory suit? Vance bought that! She’s playing CEO while that old man pulls every single string!"
Amber stared at him, a flicker of cynical intrigue crossing her features. "You really think she’s an old man’s sugar baby?"
"I know it!" Ryan laughed, a frantic, unhinged sound. "Olivia couldn't run a lemonade stand, let alone a global logistics network! She was always timid! She always kept her mouth shut! A woman doesn't transform into a corporate shark in five years unless she’s being coached in bed by the master!"
Ryan set his whiskey down, pulling out his encrypted secondary phone.
"What are you doing?" Amber asked.
"I’m calling Frank Castiglione," Ryan said, dialing a private investigator he had used during his early days at Apex. "Castiglione specializes in executive dirt. If I can prove that Olivia Parker is engaged in an illicit, non-disclosed sexual relationship with the primary fiduciary of the Parker Trust, I can take that evidence to the Vance Global ethics committee. I can challenge the validity of the acquisition contract! I can void the eight-million-dollar demand note!"
"Can you really do that?" Amber asked, her eyes lighting up with genuine greed.
"In a corporate governance dispute? Absolutely," Ryan lied, entirely out of his depth in corporate law, but desperate enough to believe his own delusions. "If I expose her as a fraud, she loses her leverage. She won't be able to touch the penthouse. And maybe... maybe I can even use the boy."
Amber’s eyes narrowed. "The boy? You surrendered your rights, Ryan."
"Under duress!" Ryan insisted, pacing faster, his heart racing. "I was twenty-eight! I didn't have legal representation in that hospital room! If Frank finds evidence that she’s living an immoral lifestyle with an elderly billionaire, I can petition the family court to reopen custody! Leo is the sole biological heir to the Parker name! If I get partial custody of that kid, she will have to pay me millions just to keep me away from him!"
Ryan held the phone to his ear as the line rang.
"Frank? It’s Ryan Mitchell. I have a job for you. Top priority. Unlimited budget."
Ryan looked out over the Chicago skyline, staring toward the dark silhouette of Vance Tower in the distance.
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"I need twenty-four-hour surveillance on Olivia Parker. Find out where she sleeps. Find out who enters her penthouse. And find out everything you can about the kid."
***
