Chapter 5 - THE LEGAL NOOSE: WHY VIVIENNE’S THREATS COULDN'T SAVE HER FROM A FELONY ARREST
Down in the upscale penthouse apartment in downtown Chicago that belonged to Vivienne’s wealthy parents, the atmosphere was a chaotic storm of flying glassware and hysterical screaming.
Vivienne paced back and forth across the white carpet, throwing jade-green decorative pillows against the wall while her mother, Eleanor, hovered nearby wringing her hands in absolute horror.
“He threw me out! Like a stray dog on the street!” Vivienne shrieked, tears of pure narcissistic rage streaming down her face. “He locked me out of the estate, he took my designer handbags, and he had his rented security thugs drag me out the front door in front of the neighbors!”
Her father, Arthur Vance—a powerful, ruthless corporate defense attorney known for bullying prosecutors into submission—sat in a leather armchair sipping scotch, his face dark and thunderous.
“Calm down, Vivienne!” Arthur barked, slamming his crystal glass down onto the coffee table with a loud clack. “Stop screaming and tell me exactly what happened. Did Grant catch you cheating?”
“No! Of course not!” Vivienne lied smoothly, tossing her blonde hair. “It was just a stupid argument over wedding planning! The nanny—that ungrateful little peasant girl—deliberately provoked me, and Grant took her side over his own future wife!”
Arthur narrowed his eyes, studying his daughter’s frantic expressions. He knew Vivienne was lying through her teeth, but as a defense attorney, he was more interested in damage control than the moral truth.
“Well, whatever happened, you’ve put us in a very delicate position,” Arthur muttered, standing up and pulling out his cell phone. “If Grant tries to break the engagement publicly or leaks anything to the society columns, our family’s reputation takes a massive hit. I’ll call him right now, remind him of our business connections, and force him to issue a joint statement claiming you mutually decided to postpone the wedding due to ‘stress.’”
Arthur dialed Grant’s direct cell number, pressing the phone to his ear with an air of arrogant entitlement.
It rang four times before clicking over to voicemail.
“You have reached Grant Sterling. Leave a message.”
Arthur frowned, hanging up and dialing again. Straight to voicemail.
“He’s screening my calls,” Arthur growled, his jaw clenching. “Stubborn bastard. I’ll text him.”
Arthur tapped out a firm, commanding message:
Grant, we need to talk. Call me immediately to discuss how we’re handling the wedding postponement privately before this gets ugly.
He hit send.
He waited two minutes.
Then, his phone buzzed on the coffee table.
An incoming text message from Grant Sterling.
Arthur smirked, picking up the phone. “See? I knew he’d come around.”
He opened the text message.
There were no words.
Just a single, encrypted digital link to a secure cloud video file.
Frowning, Arthur tapped the link.
The video player opened on his phone screen, loading a high-definition recording straight from the foyer security camera of the Sterling estate.
Arthur watched in absolute, stunned silence as the video played out in real time:
Vivienne shoving twelve-month-old Noah toward the stairs.
Tessa rushing in to shield the baby.
Vivienne grabbing the heavy antique ceramic vase, winding up, and swinging it viciously across Tessa’s back as she went down protecting the child.
The color drained entirely from Arthur Vance’s face.
The ruthless, untouchable corporate defense attorney stood frozen, his phone trembling in his hand as the audio of his daughter’s shrill, vicious shrieks echoed through the penthouse living room.
“Arthur? What is it? What did he send you?” Eleanor asked anxiously, stepping closer.
Arthur didn't answer. He couldn't.
His phone buzzed a second time in his palm.
A text message from an unknown number—the direct badge line of the county police detective handling assault cases.
“Mr. Vance. An arrest warrant has just been issued for your daughter, Vivienne Vance, for felony aggravated assault with a deadly weapon and child endangerment. We have units en route to your apartment right now. Do not resist.”
Arthur dropped his phone onto the coffee table. It clattered against the glass, the screen cracking slightly.
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“Dad? What’s wrong? What did he say?!” Vivienne demanded, panic rising in her voice as she saw her father’s ashen expression.
Arthur looked at his daughter, the crushing reality of what she had done finally crashing down upon him.
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