Chapter 9 - LOOSE THREADS
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Victoria stared at the screen for three long seconds. Her pulse didn't jump. Her breathing didn't falter. She calmly slipped the phone back into her pocket.
"Marcus," she said quietly.
"Yes, Victoria?"
"Take over here. Ensure every resignation letter is countersigned by our legal notary. Freeze all stock option vesting immediately."
Marcus caught the subtle shift in her posture, the tightening around her jawline. "What is it? Did something happen with the arraignment?"
"Nothing that can't be handled," she replied smoothly, heading toward the private executive exit that led directly to the helipad stairwell. "Have the driver bring the armored Suburban around to the freight loading dock. I’m heading to the townhouse."
"The townhouse?" Marcus frowned, stepping after her. "Victoria, that property has been empty for months. Why go there now?"
"Because Julian hid his emergency escape safe behind the library fireplace," Victoria said, stepping through the doorway. "Passport, bearer bonds, two hundred thousand in unmarked Swiss francs. If he managed to slip the police, that’s the only place in Manhattan he can get out of the country."
"I’m sending security with you," Marcus insisted.
"No," Victoria said, turning back with a look of absolute, unyielding command. "If he sees security, he runs into the subway system and we spend three years hunting him across South America. I want him cornered. I want him to know it’s over."
Twenty minutes later, the armored Suburban pulled up alongside a darkened brownstone on East 74th Street. The street was quiet, soaked in cold autumn rain, the leaves sticking to the pavement like wet paper.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "Mrs. Vance, let me check the perimeter first."
"Stay in the car, Leo. Keep the engine running and keep the headlights off."
Victoria stepped out into the drizzle, pushing the wrought-iron gate open. The front door of the townhouse was slightly ajar, the brass deadbolt scratched with fresh crowbar marks.
She didn't hesitate. She pushed the door open and stepped into the pitch-black foyer.
The faint metallic click of a revolver hammer being cocked echoed through the dark living room.
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"You really should have stayed in that hospital bed, Vicky," Julian’s hoarse, ragged voice whispered from the shadows.
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