Chapter 3 - The War of the Families
By eight o'clock the following morning, the sun rose over a city that had already consumed the scandal whole.
Every major news outlet, tabloid, and social media platform had the headline plastered on their front pages: "THE CYANIDE BRIDE: VENTURE CAPITALIST ARRESTED AT ALTAR FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER."
The photo of Emma playing the video on her phone, with Sophia in her stained dress and Ethan being tackled in the background, had gone viral globally.
In the penthouse office of Sterling Enterprises, overlooking the skyline, Sophia sat across from her father, Charles Sterling. Charles looked ten years older than he had yesterday. His hair was disheveled, his tie loosened, and his desk was covered in legal documents, press releases, and financial statements.
"The board is panicking," Charles said, his voice deep and gravelly as he rubbed his temples. "Our stock plummeted twelve percent at the opening bell. The media is painting us as complete fools who allowed a murderous grifter into the highest levels of our firm."
"A girl almost died, Father," Marcus snapped from the window, pacing like a caged tiger. "Your daughter almost drank poison, and you're worried about the stock price?"
"I am worried about everything, Marcus!" Charles roared, slamming his palm onto the mahogany desk. "Do you think I don't care about Sophia? I want that bastard to rot in maximum security for the rest of his natural life! But Arthur Pendelton is already launching a counter-campaign. He’s going to release press statements claiming Ethan was set up by our family to cover up our own financial discrepancies!"
The door to the office pushed open, and Emma walked in unannounced, holding a thick cardboard file folder under her arm.
"They’re doing more than press releases, Mr. Sterling," Emma said, setting the folder down on the desk.
Charles frowned, looking up at her. "Miss Miller. I didn't authorize you to come up to my office."
"You didn't hire me, so you don't authorize anything I do," Emma replied casually, leaning over the desk. "I spent the last six hours going through Ethan’s private banking records from the shell companies he registered in the Cayman Islands. He wasn't acting alone."
Sophia stood up from her chair, her interest piqued. "What do you mean, he wasn't acting alone?"
"Ethan’s father, Victor Vance, knew about the debt," Emma explained, tapping a document in the file. "Victor was the one who bought the potassium cyanide from the chemical plant under a fake commercial permit. He knew Ethan was going to kill you, Sophia. The Vance family was in on it together. They were going to use the thirty-percent trust payout to clear their corporate debts and short your family's stock the moment your death was announced."
Marcus let out a dark, bitter laugh. "A family effort. Unbelievable."
"Where did you get these banking records?" Charles asked, his eyes narrowing with professional suspicion. "These are private financial documents."
"I have my methods," Emma said coldly. "What matters is that Pendelton is going to file for Ethan's bail hearing at two o'clock this afternoon. They’re claiming Ethan is not a flight risk and that the evidence is circumstantial."
"Circumstantial?" Sophia shouted, her voice rising in disbelief. "There is a video of him putting poison in my cake!"
"Pendelton is going to argue that the video shows him putting an 'unknown substance' into a bowl, and that the catering staff could have cross-contaminated it afterward," Emma explained. "He’s going to rely on the fact that the Head Chef—the one Ethan paid off—has suddenly vanished from the city. Without the Chef’s testimony to confirm Ethan bribed him to clear the kitchen, Pendelton has enough legal leverage to argue reasonable doubt for a bail application."
Sophia looked at the floor, her hands curling into tight fists. She felt a cold, sharp anger taking root in her chest—a feeling that was rapidly replacing the grief and betrayal she had felt during the night. She had been weak. She had been naive. She had let a monster touch her, kiss her, and almost kill her while she smiled for wedding photos.
She wasn't going to be a victim anymore.
"Where is the Head Chef?" Sophia asked, looking directly into Emma’s eyes.
"His name is Pierre Laurent," Emma said. "He checked into a motel near the docks forty minutes ago, waiting for a wire transfer from Victor Vance so he can board a cargo ship to South America."
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"Marcus," Sophia said, turning to her brother, her eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying authority that neither her brother nor father had ever seen in her before. "Get the car. We’re going to the docks."
Emma looked at Sophia, a faint, approving smirk touching the corner of her lips. "I’ll drive," Emma said.
