Chapter 8
The Hogan estate looked like a war zone.
In the grand foyer, Vance Hogan hurled a priceless Ming dynasty vase against the marble floor. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, the sound echoing through the empty, silent house.
"Gone! It's all gone!" Vance screamed, his vocal cords tearing. He grabbed his own hair, pulling at the roots.
His lawyer had just called. The fifteen million dollars was sitting in a numbered Swiss bank account, protected by ironclad international privacy laws. They couldn't freeze it. They couldn't touch it.
Corinne sat on the bottom step of the staircase, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands. Upstairs, Sloane had locked herself in her bedroom, screaming obscenities and throwing furniture. Her life as a New York socialite was dead and buried.
Vance's phone buzzed on the floor. It was an email from their chief financial officer. The bank had issued a margin call. If Hogan Group didn't deposit ten million dollars by noon tomorrow, they would trigger the Bankruptcy Code. The company would be liquidated.
They were dead.
The front doors opened slowly. Julian Sterling walked in. His face was pale, his eyes darting around the ruined foyer. His own family's company, Sterling Industries, was heavily leveraged on the Hogan merger. If Vance went down, Julian went down with him.
Julian stepped over the broken porcelain and walked up to Vance.
"Sir," Julian said, his voice tight with desperation. "we can't just roll over and die."
Vance looked up, his eyes bloodshot and hollow. "What do you suggest, Julian? Should I rob a bank?"
Julian swallowed hard. He adjusted his left cuff, his signature tell when he was about to lie or manipulate. "That fifteen million... it belongs to this family. Aspen stole it. But she's weak. She's stupid."
Vance let out a bitter laugh. "Stupid? She just orchestrated our execution!"
"She got lucky!" Julian insisted, his voice rising. "She used the Fitzpatrick cripple to do her dirty work. But deep down, she's still that pathetic, needy girl who was begging me to take her back at breakfast yesterday. She loves me, Vance. She's obsessed with me."
Julian's ego was a blinding disease. He truly believed his own delusion.
"If I can get her alone," Julian whispered, leaning in close. "If I can convince her that I was framed by Sloane, that I still want to run away with her... she'll give me the money. I know she will. It's our only way out."
Vance stared at Julian. It was a pathetic, insane plan. But when a man is drowning, he will grab onto a razor blade if he thinks it floats. Vance slowly nodded.
Miles away, in the silent luxury of Deron's penthouse, Aspen sat on a plush velvet sofa, sipping black coffee. She held an iPad, scrolling through the financial news. The headlines were a bloodbath. Hogan Group Plummets 40% Pre-Market. Scandal Rocks Hamptons.
Her phone buzzed on the glass coffee table.
She picked it up. It was a text from an unsaved number.
Aspen, it's Julian. Please, you have to see me. The video was a setup. I love you. I only love you. Please give me a chance to explain. Meet me today.
Aspen stared at the glowing screen. A slow, chilling smile spread across her face. It didn't reach her eyes.
The fish had taken the bait.
She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she took a screenshot of the message. She opened a highly secure, encrypted email client-a relic from her days in the Underworld. She typed in an address that didn't technically exist on the public internet.
Jameel, she typed. Trace this number. I need Julian Sterling's complete financial footprint for the last 48 hours. Offshore accounts, crypto wallets, everything. I want the nails for his coffin.
Jameel Lawson was the best hacker the Underworld had ever produced. In her past life, Julian had used a fake crypto scheme to drain her last dime before leaving her to die. This time, she was going to use his own greed to send him to a federal penitentiary.
She hit send. The email vanished, leaving no trace.
Aspen switched back to her text messages. She began to type her reply to Julian. She made sure to use poor grammar, lots of ellipses, and a tone of desperate hesitation. She had to play the perfect victim.
Julian? Is it really you? I'm so scared... Deron's men are everywhere. But... I miss you. Where can we meet?
She hit send.
She set the phone down and took a slow sip of her coffee. It tasted like victory. She was going to skin Julian Sterling alive, and he was going to hand her the knife.
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