Chapter 6 - The Night of the Storm
The ballroom emptied within twenty minutes. The guests fled like rats from a sinking ship, eager to distance themselves from a scandal that would dominate the front pages of every global newspaper by morning.
Only a few remained in the quiet, desolate expanse of the mansion: Adrian, Natalie, Rachel, and little Emma, who had fallen asleep curled up on a velvet sofa near the fireplace.
Adrian sat alone at the mahogany desk in his private study, the cold light of his laptop screen illuminating his face. The documents from the hidden cedar panel were spread out before him. Beside them sat the Cartier box and Claire’s platinum wedding ring.
Natalie walked into the study, holding a cup of black coffee. She set it gently beside his hand.
“She’s gone, Adrian,” Natalie whispered, her voice thick with tears. “For three years, I blamed myself for not calling her more often. I thought she was just... gone.”
“She isn't dead, Natalie,” Adrian said, his voice entirely flat, stripped of all emotion. “If Madison swapped the body in that car, it means she needed the world to believe Claire was dead so she could assume her financial assets, take her place in this house, and eventually marry me to secure the entire Westwood estate.”
“If the body wasn't Claire... whose body was it?” Natalie asked, shivering despite the warmth of the fire.
“Marcus is running dental and DNA cross-references with the missing persons database in Chicago right now,” Adrian replied, typing a rapid sequence of commands into his terminal. “We’ll have answers before sunrise.”
“What about Claire herself?” Natalie asked, leaning over the edge of the desk. “If Madison didn't kill her in the car crash... where is she keeping her? People don't just vanish into thin air.”
Adrian stopped typing. He stared at the screen, the cursor blinking rhythmically against the black background.
“People vanish when you have unlimited wealth, offshore accounts, and private properties that never appear on public tax rolls,” Adrian said softly.
He remembered the second document he had found in the cedar panel—a property deed for an abandoned sanatorium and experimental rehabilitation clinic located deep in the isolated woodlands of the Adirondacks, purchased two years ago under a shell corporation linked directly to Madison Cole.
Adrian stood up so fast his chair rolled backward against the wood paneling.
“Marcus!” Adrian shouted toward the hallway intercom.
The door to the study swung open instantly. Marcus stood at attention, his tactical vest readjusted over his black shirt.
“Boss?”
“Get the tactical team ready. Warm up the Sikorsky helicopter on the roof.”
May you like
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Where are we going?”
“To the Adirondacks,” Adrian said, picking up his car keys and slipping Claire’s platinum ring safely into his breast pocket. “We’re going to find my wife.”
