Chapter 5 - The Glass Tower
The top floor of the Carter Financial Building in downtown Denver was a monument to Michael’s vanity. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooked the mountains, furnished with white leather, brushed steel, and artwork that cost more than most people earned in a decade.
Two hours after the funeral service concluded, Michael sat behind his massive mahogany desk, sipping thirty-year-old scotch. Ashley was leaning over the desk, sliding a blue folder toward him.
"The representative from Apex Life signed off on the accidental death declaration," Ashley said, her voice dripping with excitement. "Because the body wasn't recovered from the river, there's a standard forty-eight-hour processing hold, but the funds are pre-approved. $50,000,000 will hit the offshore account in Grand Cayman by Thursday."
Michael leaned back, running a hand through his hair, a long, relieved sigh escaping his lips. The grieving husband mask was completely gone, replaced by the arrogant smile I had grown to despise.
"Fifty million," Michael murmured. "That clears the shortfall in the hedge fund and leaves thirty million to buy out the board."
"And Emily?" Ashley asked, sitting on the edge of the desk and pouring herself a glass. "What if the park service keeps searching the river?"
"Let them search," Michael chuckled, swirling his liquor. "The current in that gorge is fast. They’ll assume her body was carried into the canyon or caught under a ledge. In six months, everyone will forget Emily Vance ever existed."
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound of slow, rhythmic applause echoed from the private elevator lobby behind them.
Michael froze. Ashley snapped her head around, her glass slipping from her fingers and shattering against the marble floor.
The private elevator doors slid open.
Dominic Moretti stepped out first, his tall frame blocking the light from the hallway. Behind him stepped two uniformed officers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, accompanied by a woman in a sharp grey suit holding a briefcase.
"Who the hell are you?" Michael demanded, standing up, his face darkening with anger. "This is a private floor! Security!"
"Your security team is currently being interviewed by the local police regarding $100,000 in unreported cash bribes, Mr. Carter," the female agent said smoothly, displaying her badge. "I’m Special Agent Miller, FBI Financial Crimes Division."
Michael’s eyes darted frantically. "Financial crimes? There’s been a mistake. My firm is undergoing a routine audit—"
"We aren't here about your firm's routine audit, Michael," a voice called out from inside the elevator.
The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence.
I stepped out from behind Dominic.
I had removed the black veil. I wore a tailored cream maternity dress that clearly highlighted my twenty-nine-week pregnant belly. My left arm was still in a sleek black cast, and a faint, thin scar was visible along my hairline—the only mark left from the ledge.
Michael’s face drained of every ounce of blood. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulging as if he were staring at a ghost rising from the grave.
"E... Emily?" he gasped, backing away until his thighs hit his desk. "No... no, that's... you're dead. You fell... you drowned..."
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Ashley screamed, covering her mouth with both hands, stumbling back against the window. "Oh my God! Oh my God, Michael!"
"I didn't drown, Michael," I said, walking slowly toward his desk, my voice ringing with absolute, terrifying calm. "The river didn't take me. And your fifty million dollar payday just turned into a federal indictment."
