Chapter 7 - The Estate
The helicopter landed on the south lawn of the Sterling Estate in Middleburg, Virginia, at 2:15 a.m.
The scent of wet pine, horses, and boxwood hedge washed over me as the side doors slid open. The roaring noise of the rotor blades died down into a low, rhythmic hum as the turbines cooled in the damp night air.
Standing on the stone portico, illuminated by the soft yellow light of the iron lanterns, was my father.
He wore his old tweed hacking jacket over a crisp white shirt, no tie, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. He looked sixty, not seventy-two. His shoulders were broad, his gray eyes clear and completely still as he watched the stretcher being wheeled up the brick path.
He didn't rush forward. He didn't break into a dramatic display of emotion.
He waited until the paramedics set the stretcher down on the portico, then stepped forward, knelt on one knee beside my head, and reached out to smooth my tangled hair back from my face.
"He hit you with the oak cane from the study," Vance said softly. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, Father," I whispered.
"The one my grandfather gave me when I passed the bar in '74," Vance continued, his eyes tracing the purple bruising that was creeping up the left side of my jawline.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed, my voice breaking. "I should have known... I should have seen what he was doing with the offshore accounts..."
My father stopped my words by pressing his thumb gently against my chin.
"You didn't fail, Katherine," Vance said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "You allowed him to reveal his true measure. A man who strikes a woman to prove his standing is not a rival, Katherine. He is a dog that needs to be put down."
He stood up, turned to Marcus, and nodded once.
"Is the SEC filing ready?" Vance asked.
"Yes, Sir," Marcus replied, pulling a thick leather folder from his armpit holster. "The Wall Street Journal gets the leak at 4:00 a.m. The Federal prosecutor in the Southern District has already signed the indictment papers."
May you like
Vance looked down at me one last time, a faint, cold smile touching his lips.
"Go to sleep, darling," he whispered. "By breakfast, Julian won't even have a name left to hide behind."
