Chapter 28 - The Ball of Vengeance
The Daley townhome on East 74th Street was a sprawling, five-story mansion of limestone and wrought iron, dark and cavernous like a mausoleum.
Outside, two federal marshals sat in an unmarked sedan, monitoring Victor's ankle bracelet. Inside, the lights were dim. Victor Daley stood in his mahogany library, pouring three fingers of aged cognac into a snifter.
The heavy mahogany double doors of the library pushed open.
Victor did not turn around. "I told the security guard that I am not taking visitors until my counsel arrives from Zurich."
"Your counsel isn't coming, Victor," a crisp, melodious voice answered from the doorway.
Victor whipped around, his cane clattering against the Persian rug.
Phoebe Harrell stood framed in the library threshold.
She wore a simple, breathtaking evening gown of midnight black silk—the very antithesis of the gaudy emerald dress Paisley had worn. Beside her stood Ethan Sterling, his coat unbuttoned, his presence an iron wall of finality.
"How did you get in here?" Victor growled, his hand reaching toward the desk drawer.
"Your private security guards haven't been paid since 6:00 PM," Ethan stated smoothly, walking across the room and casually closing the desk drawer with the heel of his palm. "When I offered them three months' severance and full immunity from federal conspiracy charges, they were more than happy to open the front door."
Victor's face contorted into an ugly, venomous sneer. "You think you can intimidate me in my own home? I have five hundred million dollars in bearer bonds locked in Zurich!"
Phoebe placed a single sheet of paper on the desk.
"You had five hundred million," Phoebe said softly. "Until twenty minutes ago. The Swiss Financial Market Supervisory Authority executed an emergency seizure based on the forensic evidence Raymond provided from the 1999 arson investigation in Saint Moritz. Arson resulting in death has no statute of limitations under Swiss federal law, Victor."
Victor's breath hitched. He stared at the official Swiss seal on the document. "Death? Eleanor died five years later!"
"The clinic nurse didn't," Phoebe revealed, her voice striking like a hammer. "Theresa Blanc. She was twenty-two years old when you set that fire to burn Eleanor's medical records. Her family has waited twenty-five years for justice. The Swiss government has just issued an international red notice. Your extradition hearing begins at dawn."
Victor’s hand trembled so violently that his cognac sloshed over the crystal rim, soaking the parchment.
"No..." he whispered, his eyes darting frantically around the dark library. "This is my city! I founded Apex! I created the corporate architecture that made your father a billionaire! Without me, you are nothing!"
"You didn't create anything, Victor," Phoebe said, taking a step closer, towering over the broken old man. "You were an extortionist who fed on the brilliance of people better than you. You tried to destroy my mother. You tried to destroy my father. You raised Paisley to be an empty, vicious mirror of your own greed."
She looked at him with neither hatred nor anger, only the cold, pitiless dismissal of an empress disposing of a common thief.
"You told me I would embarrass you wearing my mother's legacy," Phoebe said, referencing Paisley’s cruel taunt from the night of the gala. "Look at yourself, Victor. You are an old ghost standing in an empty room, broke, friendless, and heading for a cold cell in Bern."
The front door chimed. Heavy, disciplined footsteps echoed up the marble stairs of the townhouse.
Interpol agents, flanked by federal marshals, entered the library with an arrest warrant in hand.
"Victor Daley," the lead officer declared. "Pursuant to an extradition warrant issued by the Swiss Confederation, you are under arrest."
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As the steel cuffs clicked around his wrists, Victor Daley stared at Phoebe, his lips moving soundlessly, his eyes filled with the crushing, unbearable realization that his twenty-five-year resurrection had lasted less than forty-eight hours.
***
