Chapter 6 - The Trap at the Gala
The fallout from Julian Vance's arrest sent shockwaves through Boston’s financial district, but the battle was far from over.
While Vance was held in federal custody, Richard Hale—Victoria’s father—remained at large. Using his political connections and a network of high-priced defense lawyers, Hale managed to obtain an emergency bail order for Victoria, pulling her out of the guest house detention at the Ashford estate before formal charges could be processed.
"Hale is desperate," I said two days later, sitting across from Nathan in his private executive office at Ashford Quantum. "He knows the federal freeze orders will take forty-eight hours to process through the international banking channels in Switzerland. If he can liquidate the four point eight percent of Ashford Quantum stock his daughter holds before midnight tonight, he can walk away with twelve million dollars in clean cash and board a private jet to a non-extradition country."
Nathan leaned back in his leather chair, swirling a cup of black coffee. His dark eyes were fixed on me, admiring the sharp, effortless intelligence with which I dismantled complex financial traps.
"How do we stop him from liquidating?" Nathan asked.
"We don't stop him," I said with a faint, sharp smile. "We bait him."
"Explain."
"Tonight is the annual Metropolitan Heritage Gala," I reminded him, pulling up the event itinerary on my tablet. "Richard Hale is the keynote speaker. He expects you to be hiding in your estate, nursing a broken heart and dealing with press leaks about your canceled engagement. He thinks he has the upper hand."
"And what are we going to do?" Nathan asked, a dangerous, dark amusement sparking in his eyes.
"We attend the gala together," I said. "We let Richard Hale see us. We make him believe that I am just a rogue maid who managed to cause a temporary stir, and that you haven't yet secured the Swiss banking keys. When a greedy man thinks his opponent is still confused, he accelerates his mistake."
Nathan stared at me for three long seconds. Then he stood up, walked around his broad desk, and stopped directly in front of my chair.
He leaned down, resting his hands on the armrests of my chair, trapping me in his intense, magnetic gaze. Up close, I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of his expensive cologne filling my senses.
"You are incredible, Elena Cruz," Nathan murmured, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that made my pulse spike. "Do you know that?"
"I'm just doing the job you paid me for, Mr. Ashford," I whispered, forcing my voice to remain professional despite the sudden flutter in my chest.
"Nathan," he corrected softly, reaching out to gently touch a loose strand of hair that had fallen near my cheek. His fingers were warm against my skin. "Call me Nathan."
May you like
"Nathan," I repeated, my breath catching in my throat.
He leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, his dark eyes dropping to my lips before rising back to meet my gaze. "Then let's go to this gala, Elena. And let's show Boston high society what happens when someone tries to mess with us."
