Chapter 7 - A Dinner of Deceit
The fallout from the boardroom confrontation was swift and merciless. By noon, Daniel Vance had been stripped of his executive titles, escorted off the premises by armed security, and locked out of all corporate networks. But my revenge was only just beginning. A public scandal would destroy Vanguard Technologies' stock value overnight, so Marcus and I needed to handle the situation with surgical precision. We needed to draw Vanessa into the open.
That evening, I sat in the dimly lit dining room of my penthouse apartment. The table was set for three with fine crystal, silver cutlery, and a bottle of vintage 1995 Bordeaux—the exact wine Vanessa loved. Outside, rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting distorted reflections across the polished dining surface.
My phone chimed on the table. A text message from Vanessa: *'Elena, I heard you were back home! Daniel is beside himself, he said you had some awful misunderstanding at the office. Can I come over? I want to make sure you're okay.'*
I stared at the screen, a cold smile touching the corners of my lips. She still didn't know Daniel had been caught. She thought Daniel was still executing Phase Two of their plan.
I replied: *'Of course, sweetie. Come right over. Front door is unlocked.'*
Twenty minutes later, the private elevator chimed. Vanessa stepped into the penthouse, looking immaculate in an emerald silk dress, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore an expression of profound, theatrical concern, clutching a designer handbag to her chest like a shield.
"Elena! Oh, thank God," Vanessa gasped, rushing toward me with open arms as if she were about to embrace her dearest friend. "Daniel called me, he was crying, he said you discharged yourself from the hospital and you're not making any sense..."
She stopped dead in her tracks two feet away from me.
I hadn't moved from my seat at the head of the table. I sat quietly, swirling the dark red wine in my glass, watching her over the rim with unblinking eyes. The white bandage on my head was still partially visible beneath my hair, a stark badge of what she and Daniel had tried to do.
Vanessa's arms dropped slowly to her sides. Her smile faltered, replaced by a twitching uncertainty. "Elena? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what, Vanessa?" I asked softly, setting my wine glass down with a delicate *clink*. "Like a woman who remembers every single word you whispered while standing over my bleeding body?"
The color drained from Vanessa's face so fast she looked like a marble statue. She took a step backward toward the elevator doors, her hand trembling as she clutched her handbag. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. You're still concussed. You're imagining things..."
"Am I?" I pressed a button on the remote control beside my plate.
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Instantly, the surround-sound speakers throughout the penthouse projected the crisp, crystal-clear audio of Vanessa's voice echoing through the opulent room: *'What if she remembers? ... We’ll say she fell ... And while she’s confused, you get temporary control of her finances.'*
Vanessa stared at the speakers in abject horror, her knees buckling slightly as the full weight of the trap came crashing down upon her.
