Chapter 4 - Chloe's Folly
Victor managed to recover his composure just enough to salvage the immediate disaster in the boardroom, sputtering excuses about my "grief-induced delusions" and abruptly adjourning the meeting before the board could vote on the evidence. But the seed of doubt had been planted deep.
While Victor scrambled to manage his crumbling public image and silence his corporate associates, Chloe was making a catastrophic mistake of her own.
Convinced that Victor would soon squash my "little stunt" and hand her the keys to the Vance estate, Chloe decided she couldn't wait another day to start redecorating.
That afternoon, I sat quietly in the second-floor sunroom of the mansion, listening through my phone's remote audio feed as moving trucks pulled up the gravel driveway.
Downstairs, the heavy oak front door swung open.
"Get those velvet couches into the formal living room right now!" Chloe’s shrill voice echoed through the high ceilings. "And someone throw all those hideous stuffed animals and children's books from the east wing into the dumpster. I want every single trace of those brats gone before Victor gets back."
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, feeling a sharp pang of grief, immediately followed by the cold, unyielding armor of absolute resolve.
She was clearing out Maya and Oliver’s rooms.
I stood up from my chair, walked out of the sunroom, and descended the grand staircase.
Chloe stood in the middle of the foyer, directing a team of hired movers who were carrying out tall boxes marked with children's toys and clothes. She wore a white silk designer dress, her diamond engagement ring—purchased with corporate funds—sparkling under the chandelier.
When she saw me standing on the landing, she stopped, crossing her arms with a smug, condescending smirk.
"Well, look who decided to crawl out of her hole," Chloe laughed, stepping toward the foot of the stairs. "You might as well get used to the view, Elena. Victor is filing for a restraining order and emergency conservatorship tonight. This house, this company, and Victor belong to me now."
I walked down the stairs slowly, stopping just three steps above her so I could look down into her smug, painted face.
"You're throwing away my children's things, Chloe?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"Oh, please, don't be dramatic," Chloe scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Those little runts are rotting in the ground. It’s time to modernize. Honestly, Elena, you were never fit to be a mother anyway. Everyone at the funeral heard Victor say it."
"Everyone heard what a lying, murderous coward said," I replied softly.
Chloe’s expression flickered with a brief flash of genuine panic before she masked it with a shrill laugh. "You can threaten all you want, you pathetic little tech nerd. Victor is untouchable. He has judges in his pocket, lawyers on speed dial, and millions in the bank. What do you have?"
I smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the smile of a predator watching a rabbit run straight into a trap.
"I have the audio file of you and Victor discussing how to dispose of my children before framing me for the crime," I said evenly.
Chloe’s breath hitched. The color drained entirely from her face, leaving her foundation looking like a ghostly mask.
"W-what... what are you talking about?" she stammered, taking a panicked step backward.
"Maya’s smartwatch, Chloe," I whispered, leaning down slightly. "It recorded every single word in the master bedroom while you and my husband plotted their murder. The federal prosecutor received the master copy forty minutes ago."
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Before Chloe could scream, deny it, or run toward the door, the heavy front gates of the estate buzzed open with a loud, metallic clatter.
A convoy of four unmarked black SUVs tore up the driveway, tires screeching against the asphalt, before coming to a violent, synchronized halt right outside the front doors.
