Chapter 3 - The False Narrative
By morning, the city was covered in a thin skin of frost. Adrian’s office on the forty-second floor of the Vale Tower smelled of expensive cigar smoke and Lila’s heavy tuberose perfume.
Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, smoothing the cuffs of his bespoke French shirt. Across the desk, his mother, Vivian, leafed through the guest list for the Mayor’s Gala, her diamond rings clicking against the heavy stock paper.
"Did you make sure she had no identification?" Vivian asked, not looking up. "If she manages to flag down a patrol car, we don't need her babbling to some precinct captain before the contracts are signed tonight."
"She had nothing," Adrian scoffed, swirling his espresso. "No phone, no cards, no keys. She was thirty miles from the county line in a downpour. By the time she walks to a gas station, the papers for the Harbor District tender will already be under seal. Dr. Albright has signed the affidavit declaring her mentally incompetent to oversee the Vance Trust. By tomorrow noon, every square foot of Julian Vance’s land is legally mine."
Lila leaned over his shoulder, her manicured fingers resting on his tie. She was wearing the diamond tennis bracelet Adrian had purchased with my trust account three days prior. "And what if she shows up here, Adrian? She’s stubborn. You saw how she looked at you in the car."
"Let her," Adrian said with a cold, hollow laugh. "She enters this building, security escorts her straight into an ambulance. The city knows she's been unstable since Julian died. People love a tragedy, Lila. Especially when the grieving widow leaves behind a seventy-million-dollar development to her devoted husband."
His desk phone buzzed. His secretary’s voice trembled slightly through the intercom. "Mr. Vale? Mr. Sterling from Whitmore Capital is on line one."
Adrian straightened his jacket and winked at his mother. "Watch this. The old blind bat has reconsidered. They need our maritime permits more than we need their cash."
He pressed the speakerphone button. "Arthur, good morning. I assume Eleanor Whitmore reviewed the revised loan structure?"
"Good morning, Mr. Vale," Arthur Sterling’s voice sounded like dry parchment dragging across stone. "Madame Whitmore has indeed reviewed your portfolio. In fact, she was so intrigued by the Vance Trust assets that she has called an emergency board meeting for tonight’s gala. She will be attending in person."
Adrian’s eyes widened. "Eleanor Whitmore hasn't appeared at a public gala in seven years."
"She has found a compelling reason to step back into the light, Mr. Vale. She suggests you bring your full portfolio of original deeds to the St. Regis. She intends to make a definitive announcement regarding the Vale Enterprise."
The line went dead. Vivian looked up, her aristocratic face pale for the first time. "Adrian... why would that old woman attend the Mayor's Gala for your loan?"
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"Because she’s greedy," Adrian sneered, though a faint twitch jumped below his right eye. "She knows the Harbor District is the most lucrative contract in the state. She wants to claim her pound of flesh in front of the governor. Well, let her come. Tonight, we take the throne."
***
