Chapter 17
Midnight descended over Denver, wrapping the towering skyscrapers in a blanket of dark velvet and neon light.
Inside the penthouse suite overlooking the glittering city, Meredith stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, holding a crystal glass of aged scotch. Her designer white gown had been replaced by a sleek, black silk robe. The sapphire necklace still rested against her collarbone, catching the moonlight.
Her phone—now replaced with a brand-new, uncracked model—buzzed on the marble kitchen island.
She walked over and picked it up. It was an encrypted alert from her private security detail stationed outside Ethan’s temporary motel room across town.
Subject attempted to flee the state via private charter flight fifteen minutes ago. Intercepted by federal marshals per the forensic audit warrant. All offshore accounts fully seized.
Meredith took a slow sip of her scotch, feeling a deep, satisfying warmth spread through her chest. Ethan was gone. Victoria’s coup had been crushed before it even began. Rowe Enterprises was secure, more profitable, and more strictly under her control than it had ever been under her late father or her treacherous ex-husband.
And yet, a strange restlessness lingered in her mind.
She walked over to her mahogany desk and unlocked the bottom drawer, pulling out a dusty, leather-bound journal that had belonged to her father. She had never opened it before, assuming it was just old business ledgers.
As she flipped open the brittle yellow pages, a folded photograph slipped out and fluttered down onto the desk.
May you like
Meredith picked it up. It was a picture of her father standing outside an old mansion in Zurich, smiling warmly next to a woman who looked strikingly like Victoria—and holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket. On the back of the photo, written in her father's sharp handwriting, were words that shattered everything she thought she knew:
My greatest creation isn't Rowe Enterprises. It's the vault beneath the Denver estate.
