Chapter 10 - A Brand New Master
Six months later.
The annual Hayes Foundation Gala was being held on the back lawns of the Greenwich estate.
Five hundred guests—mayors, senators, Wall Street titans, and European philanthropists—filled the grand marquee tent erected near the water. A twenty-piece orchestra played jazz under string lights, and the champagne flowed without end.
Nobody spoke Daniel Sterling’s name. In Greenwich society, disgraced criminals didn't exist; they were simply erased from the social register like misspelled words.
I stood near the edge of the terrace, dressed in an emerald-green silk backless gown that had once belonged to my grandmother. The emerald necklace Daniel had tried to steal sparkled against my collarbone under the moonlight.
"A stunning evening, Victoria," a deep, warm voice spoke from behind me.
I turned to see Julian Vance—no relation to Chloe, but the principal managing director of Vance-Fairchild Capital, one of the oldest private equity firms in Boston. Julian was thirty-five, sharp, immensely wealthy in his own right, and a man who had known my family since we were children.
"Thank you, Julian," I said, offering my glass to clink against his. "I wasn't sure if people would show up after the... excitement of the spring."
"Are you kidding?" Julian chuckled, his gray eyes dancing with genuine admiration. "Every fund manager in Manhattan is terrified of you. You took down a four-million-dollar federal embezzlement ring, put your crooked husband and his sociopath mother in federal prison, and preserved every dollar of your grandfather’s trust without losing a single board seat."
"I just protected what was mine," I said simply.
"And that," Julian said, taking a sip of his champagne, "is why everyone in this room wants to do business with you now. You aren't just an heiress anymore, Victoria. You're the master of the house."
We talked for an hour, laughing, discussing upcoming venture capital projects in clean energy, the tension that had gripped my life for the past year completely melting into the night air. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt light. Free. Untouchable.
By midnight, the last of the limousines had rolled down the long gravel driveway.
The caterers were packing up the tents, the orchestra had left, and Marcus had locked the front gates.
I walked through the quiet, pristine halls of my mansion, kicking off my high heels and walking barefoot across the cool marble floor of the foyer. The house was mine. The silence was mine. The victory was total and absolute.
I walked into my study, poured myself a small glass of vintage scotch, and sat down at my grandfather’s mahogany desk to review the final donations from the gala.
Then, my landline phone on the desk rang.
I frowned. Nobody called the landline anymore; it was an unlisted private copper wire installed forty years ago, used only for private estate emergency lines.
I picked up the heavy black receiver. "Hello?"
Silence. Only the faint, hollow hiss of an encrypted overseas connection.
"Victoria," a distorted voice spoke through the speaker. It wasn't Daniel. It wasn't Eleanor. It was a cold, cultured, European voice I had never heard before.
"Who is this?" I demanded, my hand tightening around the receiver.
"Daniel was an incompetent fool," the voice said smoothly. "He thought he was running that Panama fund all by himself. He thought he was stealing your money to cover his own debts."
My heart skipped a beat. The air in the room suddenly turned freezing cold.
"What are you talking about?"
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"Daniel wasn't the architect, Victoria. He was just our inside man," the voice whispered. "He was supposed to transfer the deeds to your grandfather's trust to satisfy a debt your grandfather incurred thirty years ago in Geneva. Daniel failed. But the debt remains."
A click sounded on the line.
