Chapter 6 - Desperate Measures
While I rested within the fortified walls of the Lancaster estate, Julian’s life was burning down at terrifying speed.
Deprived of his executive salary, locked out of his corporate accounts, and facing the immediate freeze of his personal assets by the Swiss banking regulators, Julian Duval unraveled completely.
In a luxury duplex downtown, the illusion of love between Julian and Dalia shattered into vicious, screaming warfare.
Dalia Fontaine stood in the center of the master bedroom, frantically throwing designer dresses, diamond jewelry, and Birkin bags into three leather suitcases.
“What the hell are you doing?” Julian roared, stumbling through the doorway with an empty glass in his hand. He hadn't shaved in three days; his eyes were wild, bloodshot, and deranged.
“I’m leaving, Julian!” Dalia screamed, zipping up a suitcase. “The doorman just told me Lancaster’s bailiffs are arriving at five o'clock to padlock the doors! The penthouse is seized! Your credit cards were declined at the grocery store this morning! You have nothing left!”
“I have my name!” Julian bellowed, grabbing her wrist, trying to pull the suitcase away from her. “I am a Duval! My lawyers are filing an injunction! The board cannot strip my heritage without a fight!”
“Your name is garbage!” Dalia slapped his hand away, her voice shrieking like a siren. “You lied to me! You told me Khloe was barren! You told me she was walking away with nothing! Now she owns your company, she has Lancaster wrapped around her finger, and you are facing prison for wire fraud!”
“You loved me!” Julian cried out, his voice cracking with pathetic desperation. “You said you loved me for who I was!”
“I loved the CEO of Duval Holdings!” Dalia laughed in his face, a cruel, mocking cackle that echoed the exact tone Julian had used against me for years. “I didn't sign up to be the prison wife of a bankrupt, sterile fraud! Get your filthy hands off my luggage!”
Dalia stormed out of the penthouse, dragging her bags toward the elevator.
Twenty minutes later, Dalia was sitting in the back of an Uber, frantically dialing Gabriel Lancaster’s private office line.
“Connect me to Mr. Lancaster,” she demanded of the assistant who answered. “Tell him it’s Dalia Fontaine. I have the private ledgers. I have Julian’s personal thumb drives—the ones with the offshore accounts he used to evade corporate taxes! I will hand them all over! Just tell Gabriel to call off his lawyers and guarantee me immunity!”
The line went silent for three long seconds.
Then, Gabriel’s cold, razor-sharp voice came through the receiver.
“Miss Fontaine.”
“Gabriel! Oh thank God,” Dalia gasped, clutching her phone. “Listen to me, I have everything. I know Julian is finished. I was just caught in the middle! Khloe knows I never meant to hurt her. If you give me five million dollars and a signed immunity agreement, I will testify against Julian in court tomorrow!”
A quiet, terrifying chuckle came from Gabriel’s end of the phone.
“Miss Fontaine, do you really believe you have anything I don’t already possess?” Gabriel asked smoothly. “My forensic auditors have been inside Duval’s mainframe for seventy-two hours. We found the tax evasion ledgers on Friday. And as for your immunity…”
Gabriel paused, his voice turning to absolute ice.
“You wore my fiancée’s stolen jewelry to the gala on Saturday night,” Gabriel said. “You paraded through society while Julian abused Khloe’s reputation. You are not a witness, Miss Fontaine. You are a co-conspirator. The federal warrants for your arrest were signed ten minutes ago. I suggest you tell your Uber driver to turn toward the nearest precinct.”
The call disconnected.
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Dalia’s phone slipped from her fingers, tumbling to the floor of the car. When she looked up through the windshield, two black unmarked police SUVs were already screeching to a halt across the intersection, blocking the cab from every direction.
***
