Chapter 3 - Shadows at the Dinner Table
By Wednesday evening, the pressure cooker had reached its boiling point. Grant hadn’t come home—not that there was a "home" for him at our primary residence anymore, since I had changed the security codes, disabled his key fob, and had his wardrobe boxed up and shipped to a postal box near his mistress’s apartment.
Instead, I sat in a booth at Le Cirque, dining alone with a glass of crisp Pinot Noir, watching the city lights blur through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I wasn't surprised when a tall, heavy-set man in an impeccably tailored navy suit slid uninvited into the banquette across from me.
"Claire Sterling," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled. "Or should I say, Claire Montgomery-Sterling?"
I didn’t blink. I took a slow sip of my wine before meeting his gaze. "Victor Vance. I didn’t realize corporate liquidators frequented French bistros."
Victor Vance—no relation to my divorce attorney, but a much more dangerous shark in the world of high-stakes asset recovery—smiled, revealing teeth that looked a little too sharp for polite society. "When a man like Grant Sterling tries to quietly liquidate five million dollars in subsidiary stock three days before a high-profile merger, people in my line of work tend to notice. Especially when his brilliant, underestimated wife files a counter-suit that locks down every single holding he owns."
"Grant has always suffered from delusions of grandeur," I said calmly. "He thinks because he wears an expensive suit, the rules don't apply to him."
"And you?" Victor leaned forward, resting his forearms on the white linen tablecloth. "What’s your game, Claire? You froze his assets, you crippled his corporate liquidity, and you’re letting him walk straight toward a wedding on October eighteenth that will legally bind him to a woman with three pending civil lawsuits for financial fraud."
I paused, my wineglass hovering an inch from my lips. My eyes narrowed slightly. "What did you say?"
Victor’s smile widened, cold and knowing. "You didn't know? Savannah Cole isn't just a boutique maternity model with expensive tastes. She’s currently a defendant in two separate civil suits in Florida for real estate embezzlement under her maiden name, Savannah Sterling—ironically enough. She didn't trap a billionaire, Mrs. Sterling. She trapped a man she thought was a billionaire, right as he was about to lose everything."
A cold, delicious thrill ran down my spine. The universe had a marvelous sense of humor.
"Tell me everything, Victor," I murmured, setting my glass down. "Every single detail."
May you like
"For a fifty percent finder’s fee on the recovered corporate holdings," Victor countered smoothly, sliding a manila folder across the table. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Sterling."
I opened the folder under the dim restaurant lighting. Inside were bank records, court filings, and photographs of Savannah signing financial documents under a false social security number. Grant thought he was upgrading. He had invited a professional con artist right into his bed, and she was about to help me dismantle him piece by piece.
