Chapter 4 - THE GHOSTS OF THE EAST WING
The silence in the library was so dense you could hear the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.
Marco stepped closer to my desk, ignoring Vivienne entirely as he delivered the report with the clinical detachment of a military officer.
“Pathology confirms manual ligature marks around the hyoid bone,” Marco stated, his deep voice echoing off the leather-bound books. “Sofia didn't die of a stroke. She was asphyxiated. Post-mortem estimations place the time of death between two and three in the morning—matching the exact window captured on the security logs.”
I didn't flinch. I had expected as much from the moment I saw the ring. But hearing it confirmed turned the ice in my veins into fire.
“And the tox-screen?” I asked.
“Traces of a heavy-duty paralytic agent in her bloodstream,” Marco continued, sliding a certified lab printout across the desk. “Succinylcholine. It paralyzes the respiratory muscles while keeping the victim entirely conscious, making it look like a sudden neurological failure. It’s not something you buy over-the-counter. It requires medical licensing or access to high-end veterinary and clinical supply chains.”
I slowly turned my head to look at Vivienne.
Her aristocratic facade had completely disintegrated. The sapphire gown now looked like a costume draped over a shivering, terrified stranger. She was pressing her fingernails so hard into the velvet armrests of her chair that I could see blood forming beneath her manicured tips.
“You have a degree in biomedical chemistry from Columbia,” I noted softly, walking around the desk and stopping two feet from her chair. “Don't you, Vivienne?”
She didn't answer. She just stared at the floor, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths.
“Your family owns three private pharmaceutical distribution firms in upstate New York,” I went on, my voice rising slightly, the cold fury finally breaking through my restraint. “You had access to the exact compound used to murder a mother in her bed while her three-year-old daughter slept down the hall.”
“She was going to ruin everything!” Vivienne suddenly shrieked, the mask finally shattering completely as she leaped out of the chair.
The two armed operatives instantly stepped forward, but I raised my hand to hold them back. Let her talk. Let her condemn herself with every syllable.
“She found it!” Vivienne screamed, tears of sheer frustration and rage spilling down her cheeks, ruining her flawless makeup. “She was cleaning out the old cedar chest in the East Wing closet three weeks ago! She found the lockbox! She opened it and saw the jewelry my grandfather hid away after he murdered his first wife!”
The room spun.
For a fraction of a second, the ground beneath my feet felt entirely unstable.
“What did you say?” I whispered, the words dragging out of my throat like broken glass.
Vivienne laughed—a high-pitched, hysterical sound that grated against the oak paneling. “Oh, you think you’re the first ruthless monster in this family, Damian? Your grandfather was a butcher! He got rid of his first wife when she tried to leave him and take half his shipping empire. He hid her rings in that box, swore my father to secrecy, and buried the truth in the estate archives! Sofia found the box, recognized the crest on the secondary pendant inside, and figured out what really happened fifty years ago!”
She pointed a shaking, manicured finger directly at my chest.
“She confronted me with it! She said she was going to take little Rosie and go to the federal prosecutor unless I confessed and turned over the entire estate! She tried to blackmail me in my own house!”
“So you killed her,” I said, my voice dropping into a deadly, flat whisper.
“I protected my future!” Vivienne sobbed hysterically, sinking back down onto the chair, burying her face in her hands. “I’m a Vance! I belong at the head of this table! Not some filthy, prying maid who didn't know her place!”
I stared down at her. The woman I had chosen to marry. The woman I had trusted with my name, my home, and my bed. She was a monster wrapped in silk and pearls, no different from the legends of corporate bloodshed that haunted our family tree.
I reached down, picked up the platinum ring with the tiny hand-carved star, and dropped it into my pocket.
“Marco,” I said without looking back.
“Boss?”
“Call the state police detail waiting outside the gates. Tell them to bring a transport van and an arrest warrant for homicide.”
May you like
Vivienne’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with sudden, desperate terror. “Damian! No! You can’t do this! We’re engaged! Our families—!”
“Our engagement is canceled, Vivienne,” I interrupted, my voice colder than the winter rain outside. “And as for our families... mine ended the moment you decided to bring murder into my home.”
