Chapter 8 - THE INSIDE JOB
The arrival of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s deputies was a blur of blue and red flashing lights, barking commands, and the metallic snap of handcuffs.
Four squad cars and an ambulance were parked haphazardly along the sweeping circular driveway, their strobes painting the white limestone pillars of the Vance mansion in rhythmic, violent flashes.
Tyler was dragged out first, his face smeared with drywall dust and sweat, his head hung low as two deputies shoved him into the back of an interceptor. Victoria was escorted out five minutes later. Her blue designer dress was torn at the shoulder, her mascara ruined, her wrists cuffed tightly behind her back.
As she passed the open French doors where Julian stood, she stopped. She didn't look remorseful. Her eyes were black with spite.
"You're going to lose everything anyway, Julian," she hissed, her voice venomous. "You think you're so smart? Check your offshore accounts in the Caymans. Check your corporate line of credit. You’re already broke, you pathetic old fool. Tyler and I were just collecting our severance."
A deputy pushed her forward. "Keep moving, ma'am."
Julian stood completely still on the terrace. His face had gone from furious to pale gray. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket with his uninjured right hand, his thumb shaking as he unlocked it and dialed a direct line.
"Frank," Julian said into the phone, not waiting for a greeting. "Log into the Vance Logistics master treasury. Right now. Run an audit on the three foreign holding accounts."
Elena sat on the stone bench by the pool, wrapped in a bright yellow blanket an EMT had draped over her shoulders. A young paramedic was dabbing antiseptic onto the deep scratches on her cheek. The sting was sharp, but it kept her anchored to reality.
Beside her, Evelyn sat in her wheelchair, refusing to let the paramedics load her into the ambulance.
"I'm not going to a hospital to sit under fluorescent lights and drink stale cranberry juice," Evelyn barked at the chief paramedic. "My vitals are fine. Blood pressure is one-twenty over eighty. Give me an aspirin and get out of my driveway."
"Ma'am, you were almost pushed into a swimming pool and you were involved in a shooting—"
"And I'm still the one paying your city taxes, young man. Now step aside."
The paramedic sighed, shook his head, and backed away toward the rig.
Evelyn turned her head toward Elena. The sharpness left her eyes, replaced by a deep, weary warmth. "Elena. Come here."
Elena stood up, clutching the blanket around her shoulders, and walked over. "How are you holding up, Mrs. Vance?"
"I’m eighty-two years old and I just shot a gun in my own hallway. I haven't felt this alive since nineteen-eighty-four," Evelyn said dryly, though her wrinkled hands were still trembling slightly against her knees. She reached out, taking Elena’s hand in both of hers. "You threw yourself in front of a bullet for an old woman who spent the last eighteen months pretending she couldn't remember your name."
"I knew who you were," Elena whispered softly. "Even when you couldn't speak. You held my hand every time the storm rattled the windows. You're a good person, Mrs. Vance. You didn't deserve what they were doing to you."
Before Evelyn could answer, Julian let out a strangled, breathless cry from the doorway.
He dropped his phone onto the stone tile. The glass screen shattered. Julian staggered backward, collapsing into one of the outdoor wicker armchairs, burying his face in his hands.
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Leo ran to his father’s side. "Dad? What is it? What did Frank say?"
Julian didn't look up. His voice came out as a broken sob through his fingers. "It's gone. All of it. Forty-two million dollars. The entire liquid reserve for the quarterly payroll."
