Chapter 3 - The Vault Opens
The mahogany table in Alex's private study was covered in documents spilled from Marcus Vance's briefcase.
Outside, the spring storm that had threatened all morning finally broke, lashing heavy rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson. Inside, the room was suffocatingly hot.
Genevieve and Marcus sat handcuffed to metal chairs on one side of the room. Genevieve was no longer screaming; she sat staring blankly at the Persian rug, realizing that her multi-million-dollar endgame had collapsed because of a three-year-old child and a stray red crayon.
Julian flipped through a thick sheaf of papers, his jaw tightening with every page.
"It's all here, Alex," Julian said grimly, looking up from the desk. "Genevieve didn't just plan to marry you for your money. She and Marcus set up a complex series of shell companies in the British Virgin Islands. The day after the wedding, once the joint ownership papers were legally filed, she had power of attorney set to execute a complete liquidation of your primary liquid assets—over eight hundred million dollars."
Alex sat behind his grand mahogany desk. He hadn't touched a drop of bourbon all day. His hands were folded neatly in front of him, his face carved from cold stone.
He looked across the room at Genevieve.
"Why?" Alex asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "I gave you everything. A life you never had to work a day for. Access, security, status."
Genevieve raised her head, a bitter, venomous sneer twisting her lips. "Status isn't enough when you're married to a robot, Alexander. You don't love anyone. You treat people like balance sheets. Marcus and I... we understood each other. We just needed your seed capital to fund our own empire. You were supposed to be easy."
"Instead," Julian added dryly, "you got outsmarted by a toddler and a crayon."
Marcus whimpered, burying his face in his hands.
Alex stood up slowly. He walked over to the windows, watching the rain streak down the glass, washing away the bright, artificial illusion of a wedding day that had never truly existed. He thought about the loneliness that had driven him toward Genevieve in the first place—the desperate desire to fill the hollow spaces left by a brutal life of corporate warfare.
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He turned around, looking at Julian. "Call the federal marshals. Have them picked up for wire fraud, identity falsification, and conspiracy. And make sure they spend every night of their trial in maximum security."
As the guards hauled Genevieve and Marcus out of the study, the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, leaving Alex alone in the quiet room.
