Chapter 4 - The Confrontation downtown
The private vault of Manhattan First National Bank smelled of beeswax, polished brass, and old money.
Vivien Hale stood before a thick steel table inside the viewing room, her manicured fingers flipping rapidly through a thick leather binder stamped with the Cole family seal. Her hair was pinned back into a sleek bun, her tailored green suit looking crisp and expensive.
The quiet click of the heavy oak door opening made her freeze.
She turned around, expecting a bank clerk.
Instead, Damian Cole stood in the doorway, framed by two broad-shouldered security officers.
Vivien’s posture stiffened for a microsecond before she forced a bright, dazzling smile onto her face. “Damian! Darling, what are you doing here? I thought you had a breakfast meeting with the harbor board—”
“Shut up, Vivien,” Damian said flatly, walking slowly into the room.
The smile died on her lips. The warm, affectionate look she had worn for eight months vanished, replaced by a calculating, cold stare.
Damian looked at the open leather binder on the table. “Looking for the offshore access keys? Or the original Brooklyn land deeds?”
Vivien slowly closed the binder, leaning her hips against the table, folding her arms across her chest. “How long have you known?”
“Since a three-year-old child pointed at you in the rain,” Damian replied, stopping three feet away from her. “Though I suppose I should thank her. You almost walked into my life with complete immunity.”
Vivien let out a low, bitter laugh. “A maid’s toddler ruined an eighteen-month operation. How poetic.”
“Why?” Damian asked, his dark eyes searching her face for any lingering trace of the woman he thought he knew. “Was it just money? Or did Julian convince you that my father murdered yours?”
Vivien’s composure cracked, a flash of genuine rage twisting her features. “Your father did murder him! Elias Cole trapped my father inside that Brooklyn warehouse and locked the emergency doors from the outside! He built this entire corporate empire on my father’s ashes while my mother died in poverty in Chicago!”
“My father was a ruthless man,” Damian said calmly. “He made enemies, and he took territory. But he didn't set that fire, Vivien.”
“Liar!” she spat.
Damian pulled a yellowed, faded document from his inner suit pocket and tossed it onto the steel table between them.
“That is the original arson investigation unit’s private transcript from 2001,” Damian said. “Your father wasn't trapped inside by Elias. Julian Vance Sr. set the fire himself to destroy evidence of his own embezzlement. Elias tried to break the doors down to pull him out—he burnt both of his arms getting to the threshold. My father kept the truth quiet for twenty-five years and paid your mother an annual stipend because he felt guilty he couldn't save his partner.”
Vivien stared at the document. Her hands trembled as she picked up the paper, her eyes scanning the official signatures of the fire marshal and the city coroner.
“No...” she whispered, her voice faltering. “Julian said... Julian told me...”
“Julian lied to you,” Damian said coldly. “He used your grief to turn you into a weapon. He didn't want justice, Vivien. He wanted the Cole logistics network to run illegal cargo through the east coast ports—the exact same crime his father died trying to hide.”
Vivien sank into the leather chair, the paper fluttering from her hands to the polished floor.
Gabe stepped into the room, holding a pair of flex-cuffs.
“Vivien Vance,” Gabe declared softly. “Federal agents are waiting downstairs. You’re being charged with corporate espionage, grand larceny, and conspiracy.”
As Gabe stepped forward to secure her wrists, Vivien looked up at Damian with wild, terrified eyes.
“Damian, wait!” she gasped, her tears finally real. “Julian knows you’re here! He knows the plan failed! He’s going after the estate! He said if I didn't get out with the ledgers by 10:00 AM, he’d burn down the house with everyone inside!”
Damian’s blood ran cold.
May you like
He looked at his watch.
It was 9:42 AM.
