Chapter 6 - The Villa on the Riviera
The Mediterranean sun beat down mercilessly on the terracotta rooftops of Monaco. High on a cliff overlooking the azure sea sat Villa Bel-Air, a sprawling white-stucco mansion surrounded by high security gates and lush bougainvillea.
Julian Vance sat on the shaded terrace, sipping an expensive vintage scotch, wearing white linen trousers and designer sunglasses. He felt entirely untouchable. He had billions in offshore accounts, a villa in paradise, and a dead former partner who was supposedly rotting away in a New York mansion, drowning in his own grief.
Then, the heavy iron security gates of the villa were smashed open with a sickening crunch of metal.
Julian bolted upright, spilling his scotch.
Two black SUVs roared up the gravel driveway, tires screeching to a halt right in front of the terrace steps. Doors flew open. Four local police officers in tactical gear poured out, followed swiftly by Marcus Reed and Adrian Marlowe.
Julian’s face went chalk white. He tried to reach for his phone on the glass table, but Marcus was already there, kicking the table aside and slamming Julian’s hands onto the stone railing with practiced efficiency.
“Adrian!” Julian gasped, struggling against the restraint. “You—you’re supposed to be in America! This is trespassing! I have rights—I’ll sue you for everything you’re—”
Adrian walked up the stone steps slowly, his black overcoat billowing slightly in the coastal breeze. He looked like an executioner stepping onto the scaffold.
“You left your digital footprints in the cloud, Julian,” Adrian said softly, stopping inches away from his former friend. “You always were arrogant. You thought grief made me stupid.”
“It was business, Adrian!” Julian shrieked, panic breaking through his polished facade as the Monegasque officers slapped steel cuffs onto his wrists. “Clara wasn't supposed to be in the east wing! It was just supposed to be property damage! Insurance fraud! The fire just… it caught too fast!”
The confession echoed across the sunny terrace, caught clearly on the body cameras of the local police officers.
Adrian didn't yell. He didn't throw a punch. He simply stared at the man he had trusted with his life, seeing him for the pathetic, small-minded parasite he truly was.
“You killed my wife,” Adrian said, his voice deadly quiet. “You killed my four-year-old daughter. And for what? A line on a spreadsheet?”
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“Adrian, please!” Julian sobbed as the officers hauled him toward the waiting police cruiser. “We were brothers! Think of the old days!”
“My brothers died four years ago,” Adrian said, turning his back on him as the sirens began to wail.
