Chapter 3 - The Blueprint of Vengeance
The penthouse morning light painted the hardwood floors in long, golden slashes. Emily woke up on a guest suite bed so soft it felt like sleeping on a cloud. For a moment, she forgot where she was—until she saw the tailored gray cashmere sweater and dark designer trousers laid out neatly on the armchair.
When she walked out into the expansive open-plan kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed Blue Mountain coffee filled the air. Vincent was leaning against the marble island, reading a physical copy of The Wall Street Journal, looking as though he hadn't slept a wink.
"Sleep well?" he asked without looking up.
"Too well. It felt illegal," Emily replied, running a hand through her hair. She walked over to the counter, eyeing the coffee machine. "Is this yours, or do you have a barista hiding in the pantry?"
Vincent finally looked up, a faint, rare smile touching the corner of his mouth. "I make my own coffee. Just like I handle my own affairs. Sit down, Emily. We have work to do."
He slid an iPad across the marble island. The screen displayed a sprawling corporate flowchart. At the top was Apex Financial Group, the high-powered investment firm where Tyler worked as a senior partner—and where Vanessa’s father was the managing director.
"Tyler’s whole life is built on sand," Vincent said, walking around the counter to stand behind her chair. As he pointed to a cluster of subsidiary shell companies on the screen, his shoulder brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine. "His firm has been siphoning high-net-worth client funds into high-risk offshore real estate ventures to pad their quarterly bonuses. Your ex thinks he’s a financial genius. He’s actually just a glorified embezzler."
Emily stared at the data. Numbers, wire transfers, and offshore account numbers flashed before her eyes. "Why are you showing me this? I don't know anything about finance."
"You worked three years putting yourself through night school taking accounting classes while Tyler mocked your ambitions," Vincent reminded her softly, leaning down so his lips were close to her ear. "You know more than you think. And more importantly, Vanessa’s father signed off on every single fraudulent transaction to secure his daughter’s high-society lifestyle."
Emily felt a surge of cold clarity replace her lingering self-doubt. For years, Tyler had belittled her intelligence, telling her she was too slow, too emotional, too ordinary for the high-stakes world he inhabited. Yet here she was, sitting in the penthouse of the most feared man in Chicago, looking at the exact legal and financial evidence that could dismantle Tyler's entire world.
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"What do you need me to do?" Emily asked, her voice steady.
Vincent’s dark eyes gleamed with approval. "We don't break in, and we don't leak it anonymously. We invite them to a charity gala this weekend—hosted by my foundation. And you, Emily, are going to be my date."
