Chapter 1 - The Blood on the Marble
The heavy footsteps of federal agents echoed off the vaulted ceiling of Blackthorn Manor, sharp and rhythmic, sounding like the steady march of an execution squad.
Nathan stood paralyzed, his fingers still wrapped around the leather handle of the braided whip.
A single drop of my blood fell from the tip, splattering against the toe of his hand-stitched leather shoes.
Elias Vale walked past the armed guards without breaking his stride.
He did not look at Nathan. He did not look at Celeste.
His dark gray eyes were fixed entirely on me—on the blood soaking through the back of my ruined silk gown, on the trembling of my knees as I fought to remain standing.
My father took off his tailored dark wool coat and gently wrapped it around my shoulders.
The warm cashmere smelled of home, cedar, and old leather—a stark contrast to the metallic reek of copper and fear filling the hall.
"You stayed too long, Elena," my father said, his voice quiet, devoid of anger, which made it infinitely more terrifying.
"I had to make sure, Dad," I whispered, resting my head against his chest for one brief second.
"I had to ensure there was no loophole. No legal defense. No technicalities."
Nathan finally found his voice, though it sounded thin, hollow, and stripped of its former authority.
"Elias... Mr. Vale..." Nathan stammered, taking a cautious step back as two federal agents moved to flank him.
"This is a private family matter. A domestic dispute. My wife... she's been unstable. She attacked Celeste—"
My father didn't even turn his head to look at him.
He simply raised his left hand, flicking two fingers slightly.
The lead federal agent, a broad-shouldered man with a cold face, stepped forward and slammed Nathan violently against the black marble pillar.
The whip clattered to the floor.
"Nathaniel Ashford," the agent announced, his voice echoing through the grand hall.
"You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, racketeering, illegal offshore money laundering, and attempted murder."
"This is impossible!" Celeste screamed, dropping her crystal flute.
The glass shattered across the floor, champagne mixing with the blood pools on the stone.
She scrambled backward into the white leather armchair, clutching her throat.
"I am a private consultant! I have immunity!"
"You had immunity under the offshore shell accounts in Saint Kitts, Miss Monroe," another agent said, pulling a thick stack of warrants from an leather briefcase.
"Which were seized four minutes ago by international financial regulators."
May you like
"Your accounts are frozen. Your assets are impounded. Your diplomatic passport has been revoked."
---
