Chapter 3 - THE ILLUSION OF VICTORY
By Thursday afternoon, Daniel Thorne was walking on air.
Sitting in his glass-walled penthouse office overlooking downtown Washington, he adjusted his silk tie while reviewing the guest list for Friday’s Grand Imperial Gala. Vanessa Vance sat on his mahogany desk, swinging her red designer heels, sipping a mimosa.
"Did her lawyer respond to the divorce terms yet?" Vanessa asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
"Not yet," Daniel smirked, leaning back in his leather chair. "Evelyn’s probably still weeping in her hospital bed, trying to figure out how she's going to afford a two-bedroom apartment on a government clerk's pension. My attorney said she doesn't stand a chance. The post-partum psychosis filing will freeze her bank accounts by Monday."
"Good," Vanessa purred, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "She was always so boring, Daniel. So plain. No jewelry, no designer clothes, no ambition. It was embarrassing watching her try to blend in at the Hawthorne Club."
"Well, you won't have to look at her ever again," Daniel said, taking a sip of his scotch. "Tomorrow night, when the Secretary of Defense signs the four-hundred-million-dollar contract, Thorne Industries becomes an international player. And you, my dear, will be standing right beside me as the new face of the company."
The door to the office opened, and Eleanor Thorne swept into the room, draped in a mink coat, the massive emerald and diamond brooch pinned prominently to her lapel.
"Daniel, darling!" Eleanor beamed, kissing her son on both cheeks. "The jeweler in Georgetown evaluated the brooch! He said the emerald is completely uncut by commercial standards—pure, raw, and worth at least six hundred thousand dollars!"
"Only the best for my mother," Daniel boasted, puffing out his chest. "Where did you get it again, Daniel?" Vanessa asked curiously.
"A private vendor from an overseas military liaison," Daniel lied smoothly, not wanting to admit he had bought it on the black market using his wife's stolen funds. "It pays to have connections."
"It’s exquisite," Eleanor preened, admiring her reflection in the glass wall. "To think that pathetic girl complained about you spending money! She actually had the nerve to ask me why I didn't buy my own jewelry. As if a clerk's daughter could ever understand high culture."
"Speaking of Evelyn," Daniel said, pulling out his phone. "I sent a courier to the hospital this morning to give her a final deadline. Sign the house over to me by five o'clock today, or I cut off her health insurance coverage through my corporate policy."
Vanessa laughed, clapping her hands delicately. "Oh, Daniel, you are delightfully ruthless."
Suddenly, Daniel’s phone buzzed with an incoming text from an unknown, heavily encrypted number.
He frowned, clicking the message open.
It contained a single sentence: 'A house built on stolen blood always collapses from within. See you tomorrow night, Daniel.'
Daniel stared at the screen, a sudden, inexplicable shiver running down his spine.
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"What is it, darling?" Eleanor asked, noticing his pale face.
Daniel shook his head, forcing a confident laugh to cover his sudden unease. "Nothing. Just a crank text from some bitter competitor who didn't get the defense contract. Let them cry all they want. Tomorrow night, we take everything."
