Chapter 6 - MIDNIGHT SURPRISE IN THE PALM BEACH ESTATE
The private jet touched down smoothly on the sun-baked tarmac of Palm Beach International Airport just before dawn. A sleek black Mercedes Maybach was waiting at the private hangar, its engine idling quietly in the warm, humid Florida air.
Marcus Vance’s retirement estate was located in one of the most exclusive gated communities along the coastline, surrounded by towering palm trees and high security fences.
As the Maybach glided silently up the circular driveway of the Mediterranean-style mansion, the sky was just beginning to streak with streaks of pink and gold.
“Stay here in the car with Leo,” Ethan instructed the driver and security team before turning to me. “Sarah, come with me.”
We walked up the wide stone steps to the heavy mahogany front door. Ethan didn’t bother knocking politely; he pressed his thumb firmly against the smart doorbell and then slammed his fist against the wood twice, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air like gunshots.
Inside, muffled curses could be heard, followed by the sound of shuffling slippers against marble floors.
The heavy bolt clicked, and the door swung open.
Marcus Vance stood in the doorway wearing a silk bathrobe, his hair disheveled, his eyes puffy with sleep. As he focused his vision on the man standing in front of him, the color drained entirely from his face, leaving him as gray as wet cement.
“Mr... Mr. Blackwood?” Marcus stammered, grabbing the doorframe for support. “What... what are you doing here? How did you find this address?”
Ethan didn’t say a word. He simply stepped forward, his tall frame blocking the doorway, and shoved Marcus backward into the grand foyer with enough force to send him stumbling into a decorative console table.
“Ethan!” Marcus gasped, clutching his chest. “You can’t just break into a man’s home—this is private property—”
“Private property funded by six million dollars of Richard Hayes’s dirty money,” Ethan interrupted, his voice dropping into a chilling, lethal whisper as he stepped inside and pulled me in behind him.
Marcus froze. His eyes darted from Ethan’s furious face to me standing by the doorway, and the panic in his eyes became absolute.
“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marcus muttered, backing away toward the living room. “Shell companies, bribes... you’re out of your mind. I retired legally!”
“You retired six months after I lost the only woman I ever loved,” Ethan stepped closer, towering over his former employee like an avenging angel. “You managed my correspondence. You handled my stationery. And thirty months ago, you forged my signature on a letter designed to tear my life apart so Richard Hayes could force his daughter into my bed and merge our portfolios.”
“Prove it!” Marcus shouted, his voice cracking with rising hysteria. “You have no proof! It’s just your word against mine!”
I stepped forward into the light of the foyer, opening my leather handbag and pulling out the folded cream envelope, holding it up for him to see.
“We don’t need your word, Marcus,” I said coldly. “We have the original letter. And Ethan’s forensic handwriting experts back in New York have already extracted micro-traces of ink and toner matching the specific printer in your executive assistant office.”
That was the final blow.
Marcus’s knees buckled completely, and he collapsed onto the cream-colored sofa, burying his face in his trembling hands.
“I had to do it,” Marcus sobbed, his voice muffled through his fingers. “Richard Hayes threatened to ruin my family, blackball my children from every university in the country, and strip my pension if I didn't execute the plan. He gave me the draft, he gave me the stationery, and he told me to slip it under your bedroom door while Ethan was stranded at the airport.”
Ethan grabbed Marcus by the collar of his silk bathrobe, hauling him up to eye level with terrifying force.
“Where is the original recording?” Ethan demanded.
“What recording?” Marcus choked out.
May you like
“Richard Hayes doesn’t trust anyone, least of all a lackey like you,” Ethan snarled. “He recorded every instruction he gave you to protect himself in case you ever turned on him. Where is the thumb drive, Marcus? Give it to me, or I swear to God I will strip every penny from your accounts and throw you into federal prison before the sun sets today.”
Marcus pointed a shaking finger toward the mahogany desk in the corner of the room. “Top drawer... hidden compartment under the false bottom. Password is Victoria’s birthday.”
