Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Samuel Lin
The private medical suite at Mount Sinai was locked down under armed guard. Inside the penthouse room, Celeste Fontaine—or Victoria Vance—lay hooked to a ventilator, an IV drip pumping neutralizing agents into her blood. The poison had been identified as a synthetic derivative of aconite, a lethal neurotoxin that induced heart failure within thirty minutes if left untreated. Because Alexander had called the paramedics immediately, she had survived, but she was under strict federal custody, bound to the hospital bed by steel restraints.
Across town, on the top floor of the Sterling Tower, Alexander sat behind his desk.
The rain slammed against the glass panes overlooking Central Park. Across from him sat Maya, wrapped in a warm fleece blanket, eating a bowl of hot soup that Alexander’s personal chef had prepared. Beside her sat David Vance, Alexander’s chief intelligence investigator, his laptop open, displaying files that had been buried deep within encrypted offshore databases.
"Samuel Lin," David Vance said, tapping a key on his keyboard. A photograph of a handsome, middle-aged Asian man appeared on the large wall screen. "Founder of Lin BioTech. Four years ago, he was worth roughly three hundred million dollars. He met a woman named Victoria Vance at a charity gala in Geneva. Within six months, they were engaged."
Alexander looked at Maya. "Samuel Lin was your father?"
Maya nodded, setting her spoon down. Her small fingers clutched the rim of the ceramic bowl. "My dad loved her. He gave her everything. He gave her a seat on his company board, he gave her power of attorney over his personal trusts, and he let her handle his private medical records."
"What happened to him?" Alexander asked.
"He died of a 'sudden cardiac arrest' at their estate in Maine," Maya said, her voice dropping into a flat, hollow tone that no twelve-year-old should ever possess. "The doctors said it was natural. But I found her bottle in the bathroom cabinet two days before he died. It had a skull label hidden under a fake prescription sticker. I tried to tell the police, but Victoria... she called the state social services. She claimed I was mentally unstable from grief."
"Victoria used her power of attorney to liquidate Samuel’s estate within forty-eight hours of his death," David Vance added, pulling up bank routing records. "She transferred two hundred million dollars into shell companies in the Cayman Islands, declared bankruptcy on the holding firm, and had Maya placed in a state group home in upstate New York."
"I ran away," Maya said simply, looking down at her sneakers. "I’ve been living on the streets in Manhattan for six months. I was begging near the back door of Aurelia tonight because the pastry chef throws out dry bread at nine o'clock. Then I saw her."
"You recognized her?" Alexander asked.
"You can't forget the face of the person who killed your dad," Maya said softly, looking up at him. "I saw her through the kitchen window. She was handing an envelope full of cash to one of the prep cooks. I snuck through the pantry while they were arguing about the money. I heard her say, 'Make sure the chocolate soufflé goes to the man at Table 1. It will look like a heart attack before he reaches his limousine.'"
Alexander felt a cold wave of hatred wash over him—a feeling he had not experienced in twenty years.
He had believed Celeste loved him. He had spent two years taking her to his private island in Fiji, introducing her to his board members, sharing his bed, and opening his life to her. He had been planning to ask her to marry him next month at his estate in Berkshire.
She wasn't a partner. She was a black widow who made a career out of finding wealthy, isolated men, inserting herself into their lives, and harvesting their fortunes before burning their names to ash.
"Where is the prep cook?" Alexander asked David Vance.
"In NYPD custody," David replied. "He confessed twenty minutes ago. Victoria offered him fifty thousand dollars to drop three drops of liquid aconite into the soufflé ramekin before pouring the batter. He turned over the cash and the glass vial."
Alexander stood up from his leather chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked down at the glittering lights of the city below.
"David," Alexander said quietly.
"Yes, Mr. Sterling?"
"I want every asset tied to Victoria Vance frozen by morning. I want her offshore accounts seized, her accomplices identified, and her legal defense stripped to the bone. Use every legal mechanism, every political connection, and every dollar I possess."
"Consider it done, sir."
Alexander turned back around, looking at the small girl sitting on his expensive sofa. "Maya."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide.
"You are never going back to the streets," Alexander said, his voice softer now, carrying a deep, quiet vow. "And you are never going back to a state home. Starting tonight, you are under my protection."
May you like
Maya blinked, tears welling in her bright blue eyes. "Why? You don't know me."
"You saved my life when no one else could," Alexander said, walking over and kneeling in front of her, just as he had in the rain-soaked alley. "And tomorrow, you and I are going to pay a visit to the hospital. It’s time Victoria Vance learned what happens when her victims stand together."
