Chapter 5 - EXPOSING THE PUPPETEER
Mrs. Harper’s finger hovered over the glowing red icon on the burner phone. Her whole body was trembling so violently that I had to reach out and steady her wrist.
"Answer it, Martha," I whispered again, my eyes locked on hers. "Show them you're no longer their puppet."
She took a ragged breath, swiped the screen, and enabled the speakerphone.
"Martha," a smooth, coldly professional male voice boomed through the small speaker. "I am outside Oakridge. I’m coming up to the second floor now. I hope you are dressed and ready. The State Prosecutor’s team is waiting at our office downtown."
"I... I’m in the conservatory, Mr. Vance," Mrs. Harper stammered, her voice shaking slightly.
"Good. Do not speak to anyone. And remember what happens to Eleanor if your memory suddenly becomes... selective during your testimony."
The line went dead with a harsh beep.
My stomach dropped. Mr. Vance?
I stared at the phone in total shock. "Did he say... Mr. Vance?"
Arthur Vance. Vincent Moretti’s lead corporate defense attorney. The man currently standing inside Vincent’s hospital suite, supposedly building his legal defense, was the very man pulling the strings for Richard Sterling.
"Claire!" Marcus’s sharp voice crackled through my earpiece. "I just saw a black sedan pull up into the visitor entrance. A man in a pinstripe suit just walked into the main lobby heading for the elevators. It's Arthur Vance!"
"Marcus, listen to me," I spoke rapidly into my collar mic. "Vance isn't Vincent's lawyer—he’s working for Richard Sterling! He’s the one who coerced Mrs. Harper! He’s coming up to the conservatory right now!"
"I’m moving in," Marcus replied instantly. "Stay out of sight!"
"Mrs. Harper, stay behind Eleanor's chair," I ordered quickly, pushing her gently behind her sister’s wheelchair as the elevator chime echoed from down the hallway.
I stepped behind a dense, six-foot potted ficus tree near the conservatory entrance, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Heavy leather dress shoes clicked sharply against the hardwood threshold. Arthur Vance stepped into the glass conservatory, adjusting his silk tie. He looked entirely calm, carrying a slim leather briefcase under his arm.
"Martha?" Vance called out, his voice smooth and condescending as he looked around the sunlit room. "Come along. We don't have time for your emotional lingering."
Mrs. Harper slowly stepped out from behind the wheelchair, clutching her sister's shoulder. "Mr. Vance... please. Don't make me do this. Mr. Moretti has been kind to me for fifteen years. He never hurt those boys—"
"Shut up, Martha," Vance interrupted coldly, his posture hardening into pure malice. "Vincent Moretti is a arrogant child who thought he could marry Richard Sterling's daughter and inherit the Sterling fortune. Richard wants his grandsons back, and he pays me five million dollars to ensure he gets them. You will walk down those stairs, you will tell the prosecutor that you saw Vincent altering that air duct, and then your sister lives for another year. Do you understand me?"
"What if she doesn't?" I stepped out from behind the ficus tree, my voice ringing out clear and powerful through the conservatory.
Vance spun around, his eyes widening in sudden, utter astonishment. "Claire Morgan?"
"You're a disgrace to your profession, Mr. Vance," I said, walking slowly toward him, holding my personal smartphone in my hand—its screen clearly showing an active video recording session with a live cloud backup. "And every word you just said about Richard Sterling's five million dollar bribe was recorded, saved, and transmitted directly to the State Police Homicide Division."
Vance’s face transformed into an expression of raw, terrifying rage. The polished attorney vanished, replaced by a desperate criminal facing a lifetime in federal prison.
"Give me that phone!" he snarled, lunging forward with incredible speed, reaching out to grab my hair and rip the device from my hands.
I dodged to the left, but Vance was larger and heavier. He grabbed my arm, slamming me back against a heavy wicker table, sending glass vases crashing to the floor. I held the phone high out of his reach, struggling against his grip as he pressed his forearm against my throat.
"You meddling little bitch!" Vance hissed, his teeth bared as he squeezed my windpipe. "I’ll kill you right here and throw the phone in the river!"
Air vanished from my lungs. Black spots danced across my vision as I kicked wildly at his shins.
Suddenly, the glass double doors of the conservatory were shattered inward with violent force.
A towering figure tore through the threshold like an enraged storm.
It was Vincent.
Vincent didn't wait for security. He didn't wait for the police. He grabbed Vance by the back of his expensive jacket collar and spun him around, landing a devastating, thunderous right hook directly across Vance’s jaw.
The impact echoed like a whip crack. Vance was lifted clean off his feet, crashing through a glass display table before slamming hard onto the tiled floor, unconscious and bleeding profusely from his lip.
Vincent immediately dropped to his knees beside me, his hands trembling as he pulled me up into his arms, lifting me against his broad, solid chest.
"Claire! Claire, look at me!" Vincent pleaded, his voice choked with absolute terror and desperate love. He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine as I gasped frantically for air. "Are you hurt? Did he break anything? Speak to me, please!"
"I'm... I'm okay," I coughed out, pressing my face into the crook of his warm neck, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. "I got it, Vincent... I got his confession on video..."
Vincent wrapped his arms around me tightly, burying his face in my hair, trembling with pure relief. "To hell with the video," he whispered fiercely against my ear, his voice breaking completely. "If anything had happened to you... I would have burned this world to ashes."
Behind us, Marcus and three State Police officers rushed into the ruined conservatory, immediately handcuffing the unconscious Vance and securing the scene.
I pulled back slightly, looking into Vincent’s dark, fierce eyes. For the first time, there were tears shining in the corners of his eyes—not of defeat, but of overwhelming, profound devotion.
May you like
"It's over, Vincent," I whispered softly, resting my hand against his cheek. "They can't take your boys now."
Vincent leaned down, touching his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips. "They can't take our family," he corrected softly. "Not ever again."
