Chapter 12 - The Counter-Strike
Agent Harris scowled, her authority challenged. “Mrs. Morello, interfering with a court order is a class-three felony. Do not make this difficult.”
“It’s not an interference if the order was procured through criminal fraud,” Rebecca’s voice announced from the study doorway.
Rebecca walked into the foyer holding a tablet synced to the manor’s central audiovisual display. Behind her, Nolan remained in the shadows, his radio earpiece glowing blue.
“What is this nonsense?” Victor said, his brow furrowing slightly, though his posture remained rigid.
“This is an emergency stay of execution signed twenty minutes ago by Presiding Appellate Judge Eleanor Vance,” Rebecca said, presenting a digital document bearing a glowing red digital seal. “Judge Castille’s ex parte order was obtained without disclosure of active criminal tampering investigations currently being conducted on these premises.”
Victor let out a cold chuckle. “A stay? On what possible legal grounds?”
“On the grounds of attempted second-degree homicide and conspiracy to commit child endangerment,” Valentina replied.
She signaled Rebecca.
The eighty-inch display in the foyer flickered to life. The high-definition security footage from the conservatory catwalk played instantly: Julian Vance kneeling at the edge of the koi pond, hauling the detached safety bracket from the dark water under the glare of the floodlights.
Then, the audio feed roared through the foyer’s ceiling speakers with crystal clarity.
*Victor: “Once she loses control, don't argue. Let everyone see it.”*
*Celeste: “And Owen?”*
*Victor: “He gets wet.”*
*Celeste: “Then you cry. I step in. She attacks me. That's all we need.”*
*Julian: “You sure the platform is still in?”*
*Victor: “It doesn't matter.”*
Celeste’s face lost every drop of color. Her hand dropped away from her eyes, the theatrical handkerchief fluttering to the marble floor. She took an involuntary step away from Victor.
The two sheriff's deputies looked at each other, then shifted their stance away from the staircase, resting their hands on their duty belts as their focus locked onto Victor.
Agent Harris stared at the screen, her mouth slightly agape. “Mr. Morello... what is this recording?”
Victor’s jaw clenched, a hairline crack appearing in his monolithic composure. “It’s an edited fabrication. Modern artificial intelligence can replicate vocal frequencies in seconds. This is inadmissible rubbish generated by a desperate woman.”
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“Julian Vance doesn't think it’s a fabrication,” Valentina said, watching Victor’s eyes flicker. “He is currently in the east security salon, giving a fully signed, notarized deposition detailing your financial coercion, the offshore wire transfers, and the exact instructions you gave him to detach the underwater safety platform forty-eight hours before my son’s party.”
***
