Chapter 9 - The Mechanic and the Murder
|
More documents began cascading across the projector screen, an overwhelming avalanche of financial crimes. Offshore wire transfers, forged charity invoices, massive cash withdrawals from the Ashcroft Children’s Literacy Fund, private casino accounts in Macau under Celine’s name, luxury property purchases billed through shell charities, and deeply incriminating screenshots of encrypted text messages between Victoria and Celine discussing exactly how quickly my assets could be frozen and moved after Lucian’s death.
“I spent the entire last month of my life following your money,” Lucian said, his voice dripping with disgust. “You stole three point eight million dollars from a foundation that buys books for children in rural schools. You used my name, my company, and my trust to pay off gambling debts, purchase jewelry, and desperately maintain a high-society position you could no longer afford on your own.”
Celine began to cry, loud, ugly, heaving sobs. But it was not a display of remorse. It was the primal fear of a trapped animal.
Victoria turned frantically toward Marcus, her composure entirely shattered.
“Stop this right now! This is a private family matter! Turn off that machine!”
Marcus did not move a single muscle.
On the screen, Lucian’s voice dropped lower, carrying a chilling, solemn weight.
“It stopped being a private family matter when you decided my wife and my unborn child were obstacles to be removed.”
The heavy cathedral doors groaned and opened again, not loudly this time, but with a terrifying, official finality. Two uniformed police officers entered, walking in lockstep, followed closely by a stern woman in a dark federal jacket.
Victoria saw them approaching and went completely still, her eyes wide with terror.
Lucian continued speaking to the silent room.
“But the theft is not why the doors are guarded today. The forged paternity test is not why Marcus is standing there with detectives. Mother, we need to discuss my car.”
The room became so eerily silent that I could hear the rain beginning outside, a soft, rhythmic patter against the ancient stained glass.
May you like
“Mother, if this video is playing today, it means the brake line you paid to have damaged did exactly what you hoped it would do.”
Victoria collapsed onto the hard stone floor.
