Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Penthouse
The penthouse at the top of the Ritz-Carlton Residences was suffocatingly quiet.
Following their immediate arraignment on preliminary charges, Michael and Amber had been released on a combined three-million-dollar bail—funds scraped together from Michael’s personal, non-frozen liquid reserves and high-interest loans from private lenders.
Amber paced back and forth across the hardwood floor of Michael’s luxury suite, clutching a half-empty glass of vodka. Her mascara was smeared, and the composed, glamorous veneer she wore at the hospital had completely collapsed.
“My lawyer says I’m facing ten years minimum for signing those wire manifests,” Amber shrieked, slamming her glass onto the marble kitchen island. “You told me this was risk-free! You told me Catherine was a spineless heiress who spent her days arranging flowers and signing whatever documents you put in front of her!”
Michael sat on the leather sofa, his tie undone, staring blankly at a television screen scrolling through financial headlines: HARRISON-VANCE BIOTECH PLUNGES AFTER CEO ARREST; WIFE RECLAIMS CONTROL.
“Shut up, Amber,” Michael muttered, rubbing his throbbing temples. “Just shut the hell up.”
“Don't tell me to shut up!” she screamed, marching over to him. “I gave up my entire career for you! I answered your phone while she was bleeding out in that delivery room because you told me you were serving her divorce papers by Friday! Now she has the company, the trust, the estate, and we are looking at federal prison!”
Michael shot up from the couch, grabbing Amber by the wrists with terrifying force. “I said quiet! Do you think I’m going down without a fight? Do you think eleven years of building my network disappears because Arthur Vance found a few paper trails?”
Amber winced, trying to pull away. “What network, Michael? Nobody is taking your calls. Harold Sterling blocked your number an hour ago!”
Michael released her, a sinister, desperate smirk creeping across his face. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city skyline.
“Catherine thinks she’s protected behind the trust,” Michael murmured, swirling the amber scotch in his glass. “She thinks Dr. Brooks is just a noble surgeon playing white knight. But she doesn't know why Daniel Brooks really took that shift during the storm.”
Amber rubbed her bruised wrists, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“Twelve years ago,” Michael said, his eyes darkening with malice, “before I met Catherine, Daniel Brooks had a younger sister. Clara Brooks. She was enrolled in an experimental oncology trial at the clinic where I worked as a project manager.”
Amber went completely still. “What happened to her?”
“The drug failed,” Michael whispered cold-bloodedly. “There was an administrative oversight in the dosage logs. I settled the case quietly out of court using donor funds and sealed the records. Clara died three weeks later. Daniel has spent the last decade trying to prove I falsified those logs to protect the clinic’s funding.”
Amber stared at him, horror mingling with sudden realization. “He didn't save Catherine and Grace by coincidence. He’s using her to destroy you.”
“Exactly,” Michael sneered, pulling out a burner phone from his pocket. “Daniel Brooks isn't Catherine’s savior. He’s an operative out for blood. And once I show Catherine that her precious doctor orchestrated this entire downfall to avenge his dead sister, she will realize she’s being played like a violin.”
Michael dialed a secure, unlisted number.
May you like
“Who are you calling?” Amber asked nervously.
“A private investigator with access to Daniel Brooks’ personal emails,” Michael answered, putting the phone to his ear. “If I’m going down, I’m taking Catherine’s sanity and Dr. Brooks’ medical license down with me. We are going to drag this fight into the mud where nobody walks away clean.”
