Chapter 5 - The Gathering Storm
That night, a violent rainstorm swept across the city, battering the high stained-glass windows of the Duarte estate with heavy gusts of wind. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension, like a wire pulled so tight it was on the verge of snapping.
In the formal dining room, Patricia sat alone at the massive mahogany table, sipping a vintage red wine. She had ordered Rosa to serve her a three-course meal, which she barely touched, preferring instead to take crisp, malicious pleasure in sending back dish after dish, complaining about the temperature, the seasoning, or the presentation.
"This soup is cold, Rosa," Patricia said casually, swirling her glass of wine. "Take it back and make it again."
"Yes, Miss Patricia," Rosa replied quietly, lifting the porcelain bowl with perfectly steady hands.
"And where are the girls?" Patricia asked, her eyes narrowing. "Why haven't they come down to ask for my permission to go to bed?"
"They were exhausted, ma'am," Rosa said, keeping her tone completely neutral. "They fell asleep early."
"Unacceptable," Patricia scoffed, putting her glass down with a loud thud. "They are undisciplined. Once Emiliano and I are married, I will institute a strict regimen. They will rise at six, complete three hours of etiquette training, and learn how to conduct themselves like members of high society instead of pampered farm animals."
In the subterranean monitoring room, Emiliano sat flanked by two elite legal investigators and Mateo. On the desk in front of them lay a thick binder of financial documents, property registries, and wiretap transcripts that Mateo’s team had gathered over the last eight hours.
"It's all here, Mr. Duarte," the head legal investigator said, pointing to a document on the screen. "Patricia’s real name isn't even Patricia Vance. Her birth name is Patricia Higgins. She served eighteen months in a federal penitentiary six years ago for corporate fraud and extortion under a different alias before meeting Julian Vance."
"So her entire identity was fabricated," Emiliano said, his eyes fixed on the monitor where Patricia was sipping her wine.
"Completely," the investigator confirmed. "Vance wiped her criminal record using corrupt contact networks in the state records office, provided her with a polished background story as an orphaned European heiress, and positioned her in your social circles at the annual charity gala last year. Her entire sole objective was to gain legal power of attorney over your estate."
"And the diamond necklace she hid in the sofa?" Emiliano asked.
"Mateo’s team sent a micro-drone into the living room while she was upstairs," the investigator smiled grimly. "We have high-resolution infrared images of the necklace currently tucked under the central cushion of the Italian leather couch, complete with Patricia's fingerprints fresh on the clasp, and zero fingerprints from Rosa."
Emiliano stood up, pulling his jacket on and smoothing his cuffs. "What is her timeline?"
"She has scheduled an emergency meeting with your family attorney tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM," Mateo replied. "She plans to present a forged digital power-of-attorney document, claiming you sent it from your hotel in Paris before falling ill. At 10:30 AM, she intends to call the police to report the stolen necklace, ensuring Rosa is removed from the house before the legal paperwork is finalized."
Emiliano looked at his watch. It was 11:45 PM.
"Then tomorrow at 10:00 AM," Emiliano said, his voice echoing with absolute authority, "we close the trap. Mateo, contact the Chief of Police directly. Tell him I require his personal presence at the estate tomorrow morning for a matter of extreme high-level corporate treason."
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"And what about Mr. Vance, sir?" Mateo asked.
Emiliano smiled—a cold, terrifying smile that held no joy. "Send Vance an anonymous invitation to the meeting. Tell him Patricia has secured the signed deeds and requires his presence to sign the final offshore transfer papers. I want the puppet master in the room when the puppet string breaks."
