Chapter 3 - The Uninvited Billionaire
Exactly nineteen minutes later, the screech of multiple heavy vehicles tearing up our manicured driveway shattered the quiet of the upscale neighborhood.
Downstairs, the music abruptly stopped. I heard Gavin’s heavy footsteps walking toward the front door, shouting angrily, "Who the hell is blocking my driveway at this hour?"
I opened the guest room door and walked out onto the grand mezzanine overlooking the foyer.
The heavy oak front door was shoved open before Gavin could even touch the handle. Four tall, broad-shouldered men in tailored black suits stepped inside, instantly dominating the space. Behind them walked a man in his late sixties, wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, carrying an aura of absolute power that made the entire room feel smaller.
Malcolm Wexler had arrived. Behind him stood Arthur Vance, the most feared corporate litigation attorney on the East Coast, holding a thick leather briefcase.
Gavin froze, his face turning pale as he recognized my father. "M-Mr. Wexler? What are you doing here? It's nearly midnight."
Brielle walked out of the living room, holding her glass. "Gavin, babe, who is this old man? Why are his thugs in our house?"
"Shut up, Brielle!" Gavin snapped, his voice trembling. He turned back to my father, forcing a fake, sycophantic smile. "Sir, if Vivian called you over some marital dispute, I assure you it's just a misunderstanding. She’s been very unstable lately, acting out in front of my business partners..."
"Where is my daughter?" Malcolm Wexler’s voice echoed through the high ceilings, cutting through Gavin's lies like a razor blade.
"I'm here, Dad," I said, walking slowly down the grand staircase.
My father’s eyes locked onto me. He noticed the slight stiffness in my posture and the faint red mark near my collarbone where the belt had grazed me. The fury that flashed in my father's eyes was so intense that Gavin visibly shivered.
"Did you touch her, Gavin?" Malcolm asked, his voice deadly quiet.
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"Of course not!" Gavin lied instantly. "We had an argument, that's all. She's blowing things out of proportion. And frankly, Mr. Wexler, this is my house. You can't just burst in here with security—"
"Your house?" Arthur Vance, the attorney, stepped forward, a cold, mocking smile on his face. "Mr. Rourke, I think it's time we clarify a few legal realities. May we sit down? This is going to be a very long night for you."
