Chapter 5 - THE MISTRESS IN THE DOORWAY
Vanessa Cole stepped into the warm glow of the entryway.
Up close, she didn't look like the untouchable, glamorous mistress from the photograph. Her blonde hair was windswept, her makeup was smudged, and she was shivering in the cold Boston air.
“Let me in, Catherine,” Vanessa said, her voice tight with anxiety. She glanced over her shoulder at the dark driveway. “Before his security team realizes I’m not at the hotel.”
I stood my ground, blocking the doorway. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police and have you arrested for trespassing in my father’s house.”
Vanessa looked me dead in the eye. “Because I have the real records.”
She held up the thick manila envelope.
My mother walked up behind me. “Let her in, Catherine.”
I stepped aside. Vanessa walked into the living room, completely ignoring David, who was staring at her in shock. She tossed her trench coat over one of my expensive Italian chairs and dropped the manila envelope onto the coffee table.
“The blue ledger Richard took from you tonight was a decoy,” Vanessa said, pacing the room. “Your father was a genius. He knew if Richard ever found out about the records, he would tear that house apart looking for a blue book. So, he left a fake one. Full of low-level tax infractions. Bad enough to cause a fine, but not enough to put Richard in prison.”
“How do you know that?” I demanded.
Vanessa stopped pacing and looked at me. The vulnerability in her eyes was startling.
“Because my real name isn't Vanessa Cole,” she said softly. “It’s Vanessa Sterling. My father was Arthur Sterling.”
My mother gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.
I recognized the name immediately. Arthur Sterling was the original owner of the commercial real estate patent that Richard had used to build his empire. Richard had ruthlessly forced Arthur out of the company thirty years ago, claiming Arthur had embezzled funds. Arthur died in poverty, a broken man.
“You’re Arthur’s daughter,” I whispered, the massive scale of the deception finally clicking into place.
“I spent ten years building a fake resume and working my way into Richard’s company,” Vanessa said, her voice hardening with bitter resolve. “I became his head of communications. I became his confidante. I became his… mistress. All so I could get close enough to find the proof that he framed my father.”
“You didn’t love him,” I said.
Vanessa let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Love him? I despise every breath he takes. But I couldn't find the proof in the corporate files. He hid it too well. Then, last month, he got drunk and bragged to me about blackmailing your brother for a house. He mentioned your father was his first accountant.”
She pointed to the envelope on the table.
“I went to the house tonight. I took a sledgehammer to the desk,” Vanessa confessed. “I found the blue ledger, but underneath it, wrapped in plastic inside the hollow leg of the desk, were these.”
She pulled the contents out of the envelope. Original banking records. Signed affidavits. The undeniable, concrete proof that Richard had orchestrated the entire embezzlement scheme and framed Arthur Sterling.
“Why are you bringing this to me?” I asked, my mind spinning. “You have the proof. Take it to the FBI. Destroy him.”
“Because I can't do it alone,” Vanessa admitted, her shoulders slumping. “Richard’s legal team will bury me in litigation for a decade. They’ll claim I forged it out of a vendetta for my father. I need someone on the inside. I need his wife.”
She looked at me, a desperate plea in her eyes.
“If you file for divorce tomorrow, and attach these documents as part of the financial discovery process,” Vanessa explained, “they become public record. The SEC will have no choice but to investigate. His board of directors will force him out to save the company’s stock. We can destroy him, Catherine. Together.”
I stared at the woman who had slept with my husband. For a year, I had hated her. Now, I realized we were both just casualties of Richard’s pathological greed.
“I’ll do it,” I said firmly.
“Catherine, wait,” David interrupted, stepping forward. He looked terrified. “If you expose him, he’ll expose me. I forged the deed to the house. He’ll send me to prison!”
Vanessa looked at David with utter contempt. “He doesn't have the original forged deed, David.”
David blinked. “What?”
Vanessa reached into the envelope and pulled out a single piece of heavy legal paper. She handed it to me.
It was the deed to my father’s house. The original document, complete with David’s terrible forgery of my signature.
“I stole this from Richard’s private safe in his office three days ago,” Vanessa said with a smirk. “He only has digital copies now. Without the original, the district attorney won't touch the case. Your brother is safe.”
Tears of absolute relief flooded my eyes. I hugged the deed to my chest. My father’s house was mine again.
“Thank you,” I whispered to Vanessa.
“Don't thank me yet,” Vanessa said, her expression turning deadly serious. “Richard is a cornered animal. When he realizes the blue ledger is a fake, he will come looking for me. And when he realizes you have the real documents, he will try to destroy you. We have to strike first.”
“I have an appointment with a divorce attorney tomorrow at 9 AM,” I said, a new, fierce determination burning inside me. “We’ll file the discovery motions before lunch.”
Vanessa nodded. She grabbed her coat and moved toward the door.
“I’m going to stay at a motel under a fake name until the papers are filed,” she said. “Keep the documents safe, Catherine.”
She opened the front door and disappeared into the night.
I looked at the stack of papers on my coffee table. The keys to Richard’s destruction.
“You’re really going to do this, Cath?” David asked, awe in his voice.
“He thought I wouldn't last a month without him,” I said, picking up the envelope. “I’m going to make sure he doesn't last the week.”
But as I placed the documents back into the envelope, a small, silver object fell out and clattered onto the glass coffee table.
I picked it up.
It was a heavy, silver pocket watch.
I recognized the engraving on the back. It belonged to Richard.
I opened the clasp. Inside, there wasn't a clock face. There was a small, folded piece of paper.
I unfolded it. It was a receipt from a private nursing home facility. The same facility my mother had just been discharged from.
I read the receipt, and the blood instantly turned to ice in my veins.
May you like
“Mom,” I whispered, looking up at her in horror. “Richard doesn't just pay for your nursing home. He owns it.”
TITLE: THE EVICTION NOTICE
