Chapter 11 - THE GREEN DRESS AND THE TRAP
The ballroom of the Grand Hotel was blindingly bright, filled with the elite of Westbridge society. Only three nights ago, I had stood at a party like this with my head bowed, serving champagne and praying not to be noticed.
Tonight, I walked down the grand staircase with my hand resting on Luca Moretti’s arm, and every eye in the room turned to watch us.
“Head high,” Luca murmured, his voice a low, reassuring rumble against my shoulder. “You own this room.”
I squeezed his arm, my emerald silk gown trailing beautifully across the marble floor. I scanned the crowd.
“There he is,” I whispered.
Standing near the ice sculpture was Richard Vance. He was in his sixties, holding a scotch and laughing with two other board members. He looked entirely too relaxed for a man who had just stolen the homes of 28 vulnerable women.
“Dante has the exits covered,” Luca said softly. “You have exactly five minutes to get his phone before I walk over there and break his jaw.”
“I won’t need five,” I promised.
I let go of Luca’s arm and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. I took a deep breath, channeled every ounce of confidence I had, and walked directly toward Vance.
I timed it perfectly. Just as Vance turned to set his empty glass down, I stepped into his path, deliberately stumbling and spilling half my champagne down the front of my own dress.
“Oh! I am so sorry!” I gasped, acting flustered.
Vance stepped back, annoyed. “Watch where you’re going, young woman.”
“I’m so clumsy,” I apologized profusely, patting my dress with a napkin. “I was just admiring your watch. Is that a vintage Patek Philippe?”
Vance’s annoyance melted instantly, replaced by sheer arrogance. Older, wealthy men could never resist an opportunity to brag.
“Why, yes it is,” Vance smiled, adjusting his cuffs. He looked me up and down, clearly impressed by the emerald gown and the diamonds on my wrist. “You have a good eye, my dear. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I’m Emily,” I smiled warmly, stepping slightly closer.
“Richard Vance,” he offered his hand. “Are you here with someone, Emily?”
“Just my fiancé,” I said. “He’s grabbing us drinks.”
“His loss to leave a beautiful woman unattended,” Vance chuckled. He reached into his breast pocket to pull out his phone, likely to check the time.
This was my window.
“Mr. Vance,” I lowered my voice, looking around conspiratorially. “Actually, I was hoping to run into you. My fiancé is an investor, and we heard a fascinating rumor about Bellini Residential Holdings today.”
Vance’s hand paused on his phone. His smile tightened. “Rumors are rarely true, my dear.”
“Well, the rumor is that a massive block of real estate was just frozen by the board,” I whispered. “And that someone named Julian is offering a highly lucrative payout for early buyers before the eviction notices go public.”
Vance’s face went completely white.
“Who did you say you were?” he demanded, his voice suddenly sharp.
“Emily Carter,” I said, dropping the sweet, flustered act entirely. My voice was ice cold. “Helen Brooks’s advocate.”
Vance sneered, realizing he had been played. “You’re the maid. You have no idea who you’re messing with, little girl.”
He aggressively shoved his phone back into his pocket and turned to walk away.
But a massive, tattooed hand clamped down onto his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“She’s not messing with you, Richard,” Luca’s dark voice echoed behind him. “She’s distracting you.”
Vance spun around, terrified.
While I had kept Vance focused on my face and his own arrogance, I had seamlessly bumped against his right pocket.
I held up my left hand.
Resting in my palm was Richard Vance’s unlocked smartphone.
“Pickpocketing,” I smiled at Vance’s stunned face. “A skill you pick up when you grow up on 4th Street.”
Luca pulled Vance roughly by the collar, dragging him toward a secluded hallway behind the kitchens. I followed, immediately opening the phone’s messages.
“Dante,” Luca barked as his security chief stepped out of the shadows, blocking the hallway exit.
Luca shoved Vance against the wall. The older man whimpered.
“I found it,” I said, staring at the screen. “An encrypted chat. A message sent ten minutes ago. It says: Funds frozen. Board secure. Boarding flight to Zurich.”
“Julian,” Luca snarled, his fist pressed into Vance’s throat. “What flight is my brother on?”
“I don’t know!” Vance choked out. “I swear! He only contacts me through the app!”
I looked closely at the screen. There was a photo attached to the message. A picture of a boarding pass, showing a departure time.
“Flight 408,” I read aloud. “Private charter out of Westbridge Airfield. It leaves in twenty minutes.”
Luca dropped Vance. He didn’t even look back as Dante grabbed the traitorous board member.
May you like
Luca turned to me, his eyes blazing. He reached out and grabbed my hand, our fingers interlacing perfectly.
“Let’s go catch a ghost,” Luca said.
