Part 5: The Greenwich Intercept
The drive to Greenwich was silent, the hum of the armored SUV’s engine the only sound cutting through the pre-dawn mist. Damian sat beside me, his military uniform immaculate, staring directly ahead as his fingers rhythmically tapped against his knee. He was no longer the CEO of a financial firm; he was a commander preparing to secure a perimeter.
When our convoy pulled up to the gates of the sprawling mansion, the security detail we had deployed hours earlier had already blocked the exit. Serena’s black sedan sat idling in the center of the driveway, its headlights cutting through the fog, completely boxed in by our vehicles.
I rolled down my window as Damian stepped out of the SUV, his boots crunching sharply against the wet gravel.
Serena killed the engine, her face pale and terrified behind the windshield as she realized the iron gates wouldn't open for her. She stepped out of the car slowly, her expensive silk trench coat fluttering in the cold wind, her manicured hands trembling as she looked at her husband.
"Damian, please," she stammered, trying to inject her usual theatrical innocence into her voice. "I was just going to visit my mother. The press... they were hounding our penthouse. I couldn't handle the pressure after what happened to your mother."
"You couldn't handle the pressure because the forensic laboratory just finished analyzing the chemical residue in my mother's teacup, Serena," Damian said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he stopped exactly three feet away from her. "They found traceable amounts of thallium sulfate. The same compound your brother purchased through a pharmaceutical shell company in Panama three months ago."
Serena’s eyes darted toward me, sitting inside the vehicle. The sight of me—upright, clear-headed, and wearing the emerald blazer—seemed to drain the last remaining bit of courage from her body.
May you like
"You... you were supposed to be bedridden," she whispered, her voice cracking as she stumbled backward against the door of her car. "The doctors said the cognitive decline was irreversible.""The doctors you paid said it was irreversible, Serena," I spoke out through the open window, my voice cutting through the fog like a razor. "But when my son returned from his deployment, he brought his own medical team. Your little vacation is officially over."
Before she could scream, two black sedans from the state prosecutor's financial crimes unit pulled through the gates, their flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the wet marble steps of the mansion.
