Chapter 2 - The Mugshot and the Deed
The emergency room at St. Paul General was quiet and sterile.
I sat on the paper-lined examination table while a young doctor meticulously cleaned the deep gash along my left temple, putting in seven delicate stitches. My reflection in the small wall mirror was striking: dried blood in my curls, a purple-and-black bruise blossoming near my hairline, but my eyes were brighter and clearer than they had been in four years.
Beside my bed stood Marcus Vance, my senior corporate attorney and lifelong friend. He set a steaming cup of chamomile tea on my tray and handed me an iPad.
"Jackson's mugshot was just processed," Marcus said, his voice laced with grim satisfaction. "The magistrate denied bail due to the severity of the physical injury and the video evidence."
I looked at the iPad screen. Jackson looked disheveled, terrified, and pathetic in his orange jumpsuit, his eyes wide with the sudden realization that his wealth and privilege had evaporated overnight.
"What about the family?" I asked softly, feeling the sting of the stitches as I spoke.
"Genesis tried to hire a high-profile criminal defense attorney using her personal line of credit this morning," Marcus chuckled, pulling a stack of legal notices from his briefcase. "Imagine her surprise when the bank notified her that all accounts tied to the Moretti-Vance estate have been frozen pending the federal fraud investigation."
"Did she sign the vacating order?"
"She has seventy-two hours to clear her belongings out of the Hidden Hills house," Marcus confirmed. "The sheriff’s department will oversee the process. You are officially the sole owner of the estate."
A heavy sigh escaped my lips. "Four years, Marcus. Four years I minimized myself. I cooked their dinners, I nodded politely when Genesis criticized my clothes, I let Jackson pretend he was the primary breadwinner because I didn't want to wound his fragile ego."
"You were trying to be a good wife to a man who only saw you as a bank account," Marcus said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Now, you get to be Evelyn Cross again. The woman who built half the skyline of this city."
My phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was a text message from an unknown number. I opened it:
Evelyn, it's Genesis. Please. Jackson is crying in his cell. He has asthma. He can't handle prison. Drop the charges and we will give you back everything. We can talk like family.
I stared at the screen for three seconds, then forwarded the message directly to Marcus.
"Add this to the witness tampering file," I said calmly.
May you like
I pulled off the medical gown, dressed in the clean clothes Marcus had brought me, and looked out the hospital window at the early morning sun breaking over St. Paul.
The prey was done running. The hunt had officially begun.
