Chapter 3 - The Swiss Ghost
The black sedan pulled into the subterranean garage of my private apartment complex. The silence inside the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of the medical papers in my lap.
I stared at the name printed at the top of the chart: Patient 44-B: Julian Vance.
"This is impossible, Arthur," I said, my voice barely audible above a whisper. "I stood at his funeral. I saw the casket lowered into the ground in West Palm Beach seven years ago. My mother wept for three months straight!"
"Your mother wept because she was a brilliant actress, Emma," Arthur replied, his voice heavy with years of unspoken secrets. "Julian Vance didn't die in that boat explosion off the coast of Bimini. He disappeared because three days before the fire, the federal prosecutor’s office was preparing an indictment for wire fraud involving offshore diamond mines."
I looked at Arthur, my chest tightening. "And my mother knew?"
"Your mother didn't just know," Arthur said grimly. "She organized it. She used the foundation's capital to fake his death, pay off the marine investigators, and stash your father in a high-security medical facility in the Alps while she managed his assets from Los Angeles."
The world I had built my entire life upon was crumbling around me, piece by piece.
Nathan was a greedy narcissist who had married me for my money. Celeste was a parasite who had infiltrated my family to steal what remained of our wealth. But my parents... my parents were the architects of the entire grand illusion.
"Why now?" I asked, turning to Arthur. "Why did this medical report surface five days ago?"
"Because your father’s medical trust in Geneva is funded directly by the dividend payouts from Marlowe & Co.," Arthur explained, pointing to a highlighted line on the financial ledger. "When Nathan began diverting those funds three months ago to pay off Celeste's offshore debts, the payments to the Swiss clinic stopped. The facility issued an emergency notification to the primary estate lawyer—which is me."
A dark, bitter laugh escaped my lips.
Nathan thought he was stealing from a defenseless, naive heiress. He had no idea that by choking off the company’s dividend payouts, he had inadvertently triggered an alarm that pulled my supposedly dead father out of the shadows.
"So if Nathan takes my shares before Friday..." I realized aloud.
"The Swiss clinic will release Julian Vance from his private care agreement, and the federal warrants from seven years ago will automatically reactivate," Arthur concluded. "Your mother's foundation will be seized by the Department of Justice, and every asset linked to your name will be frozen indefinitely."
My phone buzzed on the armrest. The screen displayed an incoming call from an unknown number.
I pressed speaker.
"Emma," Nathan’s frantic voice echoed through the luxury car. He was panting, his usual arrogant demeanor replaced by raw, unadulterated terror. "Emma, where are you? We need to talk right now."
"We have nothing to talk about, Nathan," I said smoothly, my voice as cold as ice. "My lawyer has already filed the restraining order, and Detective Rodriguez is reviewing the store security footage as we speak."
"Listen to me!" Nathan shrieked over the phone. Background noise suggested he was driving at high speed. "Celeste lied to me! She told me you signed those papers! She told me your mother gave her full authorization before she died!"
"You hit me, Nathan," I reminded him softly. "Twice. On camera."
"I was stressed! I panicked!" he pleaded, his voice breaking into a pathetically fake sob. "She told me you were going to bankrupt the company! Emma, please... you don't understand who Celeste really works for! She isn't working for me! She was sent here by—"
CRASH.
A violent metallic crunch shattered the audio feed, followed by the terrifying sound of shattering glass, spinning tires, and a deafening horn echoing through the speaker.
"Nathan?" I called out, standing up in the back seat. "Nathan!"
Dead silence filled the line for five agonizing seconds.
Then, a quiet, unfamiliar female voice picked up the phone from the wreckage.
May you like
"He won't be answering anymore, Mrs. Marlowe," the woman spoke in a calm, clipped accent. "And I strongly suggest you don't show up for your twenty-ninth birthday on Friday. Some secrets are meant to stay buried in Switzerland."
The line went dead.
