Chapter 9 - The Anatomy of a Betrayal
That evening, back in the penthouse overlooking the glittering lights of Manhattan, Daniel poured two glasses of vintage champagne, handing one to me as I stood by the window.
“You crushed them today,” Daniel said, his eyes filled with genuine admiration. “Watching you dismantle Bradley and Henderson was better than any corporate hostile takeover I’ve ever orchestrated.”
I took a sip of the chilled champagne, feeling the bubbles fizzing against my tongue. “I didn't learn it from business school, Daniel. I learned it from watching my father destroy everyone around him just to keep up appearances.”
“You’re nothing like him,” Daniel whispered, stepping up behind me and wrapping his arms securely around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “He ruled through fear and brutality. You rule through precision and absolute justice.”
“My brother still hasn't been found,” I noted, my gaze fixed on the distant Brooklyn Bridge glowing against the night sky. “The U.S. Marshals tracked his burner phone to a marina in Atlantic City, but he vanished before they raided the warehouse.”
“He’s desperate, broke, and running out of places to hide,” Daniel replied calmly, his embrace tightening. “Without daddy’s money or corporate credit cards, Victor is nothing more than a common criminal on the run.”
Just then, my secure satellite phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was an unrecognized, encrypted frequency.
I pulled away from Daniel’s embrace and walked over to the table, picking up the device. I swiped to answer, keeping the line on speaker.
“Claire,” a frantic, breathless voice hissed through the speaker. It was Victor.
“Victor,” I replied, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I hear you’re difficult to reach these days. Coast Guard looking for you?”
“Shut up!” Victor screamed, sounding completely unhinged, the sound of howling wind and crashing waves audible in the background. “You think you’ve won, don't you? You think you and your rich boyfriend can destroy everything our family built and get away with it?”
“You destroyed the family when you smashed a bottle over Daniel’s head in front of witnesses,” I retorted coldly. “What do you want, Victor? If you’re calling to ask for bail money, my answer is no.”
“I don't want bail money!” Victor yelled hysterically. “I want a helicopter out of the country! And I want fifty million dollars wired to a Swiss account by midnight, or I swear to God, I’ll release the private security footage of Mother and Dad laundering money through the Clinton charity foundation!”
Daniel walked over, calmly taking the phone from my hand and pressing the record-and-trace button on his tablet.
“Nice try, Victor,” Daniel said into the speaker, his voice smooth as glass. “The feds already seized those Clinton charity files three hours ago. You’re holding a dead hand, and you don't even know it.”
There was a deafening silence on the other end of the line, followed by a frantic, broken sob.
“No... no, that’s impossible!” Victor shrieked.
“It’s very possible,” Daniel replied. “And by the way, the Coast Patrol boats are closing in on your position off the marina jetty right now. Say hello to federal prison for me.”
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Daniel hung up the call with a single tap.
Outside the penthouse window, a distant siren wailed into the night.
