Chapter 6 - The Parisian Fantasy
For the next three weeks, Thaddius, Clarice, and Genevieve lived like royalty across Western Europe.
In Paris, they occupied the grand penthouse suite at the Plaza Athénée. Clarice spent forty thousand Euros in a single afternoon along the Avenue Montaigne, buying custom crocodile leather handbags, diamond-encrusted watches, and silk gowns. Genevieve rented a high-end photographer to follow her around the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower, posting high-fashion photos on Instagram with captions like: “Living the legacy my brother built.”
From Paris, they hired a private helicopter to fly them to Courchevel, where they stayed in a luxury ski chalet, drinking five-thousand-dollar bottles of Chateau Margaux beside a roaring marble fireplace.
Every transaction—every dinner, every handbag, every helicopter flight—was processed smoothly through Thaddius's primary corporate black card.
Every evening, Thaddius would check his phone, expecting a panicked call from the Manhattan superintendent, a police report, or a legal notice regarding his wife’s death.
But the phone remained quiet.
Sitting on the terrace of their private villa overlooking Lake Como on week four, Thaddius swirled his glass of scotch, a crease forming between his brows.
"It’s been twenty-five days," he muttered to Clarice, who was getting a manicure from a private beautician on the patio.
"What is it, Thaddius?" she asked without looking up.
"No one from the building has called," Thaddius said, staring at the calm blue water below. "It’s impossible. Even if the power was out, the maid service or the building manager should have conducted a wellness check by now."
"Maybe they did," Genevieve chimed in, scrolling on her laptop while tanning by the pool. "Maybe they found her body, saw that her death was due to 'natural complications' from her illness, and sent her straight to the city morgue. You know how slow government bureaucracy is in New York."
"I suppose..." Thaddius murmured, though a strange, prickling sensation of unease began to settle in the back of his mind. "I tried logging into the main corporate accounting portal this morning to check our quarterly yield reports, but the server gave me an authentication error."
Clarice scoffed softly. "Oh, stop worrying about work, Thaddius! You’re on vacation! The IT department probably just updated the firewall passwords again. Call them when we get to Rome next week."
"Yeah, Thaddius, relax," Genevieve giggled. "Look at this yacht charter I just reserved for Amalfi! It’s a hundred and twenty feet, comes with a six-person crew, a private chef, and jet skis! Only fifteen thousand Euros a day!"
Thaddius looked at his sister, then at his mother, and forced a smile. The rush of endless wealth was too addictive to ignore. He pushed his lingering anxiety deep into his chest.
"You're right," Thaddius said, lifting his glass. "It's just administrative delay. The money is flowing. That’s all that matters."
He pulled out his phone and swiped to a news app.
The headline on the financial section caught his eye for a brief second: “UNSEEN MARKET SHIFT: MANHATTAN REAL ESTATE GIANT HARTWELL PROPERTIES EXECUTES MASSIVE RESTRUCTURING OF TECH AND TRADING HOLDINGS.”
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Thaddius glanced at the article briefly, but seeing no mention of his firm or his name, he casually closed the app and took another sip of his scotch.
He had no idea that the "restructuring" mentioned in the news was the systematic dismantling of every single financial asset, personal property, and offshore shield he had ever touched.
