Chapter 6 - Vanessa’s True Colors
The following Tuesday, I was sitting in my corner office on the fourteenth floor of the logistics firm where I worked as Director of Operations.
My phone buzzed on the mahogany desk. It was an unknown number with a local area code. Expecting an update from Detective Miller or the impound lot, I tapped the speaker button.
“Ethan Vance.”
“Ethan? It’s Vanessa.”
Her voice was completely different from Sunday afternoon. The sneering, condescending tone was gone, replaced by a soft, breathless cadence that was almost sickeningly sweet.
“How did you get this number, Vanessa?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“Eleanor had it in Dad’s old address book,” she said softly. “Ethan, please don't hang up. I really, really need to talk to you. Privately. Without your mother around.”
“There is nothing to discuss. The trial date is set, and Mason is in county custody.”
“Ethan, please,” she pleaded, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I made a huge mistake. I didn't know the truth about Mason. I swear to God I didn't know.”
I remained silent, waiting to see what game she was playing.
“Can I come by your office?” she asked. “Just for fifteen minutes. Please. I’m scared, Ethan. I don't have anywhere else to turn.”
Twenty minutes later, my assistant escorted Vanessa into my office.
She had completely restyled herself. The designer sunglasses and haughty posture were gone. She wore a modest, oversized knit sweater, no jewelry, and minimal makeup that accentuated dark circles under her eyes. She carried a paper coffee cup with both hands, looking fragile and overwhelmed.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, perching nervously on the edge of the leather armchair across from my desk.
“You have ten minutes, Vanessa. What do you want?”
She set the coffee cup down and looked at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I’m leaving him, Ethan.”
I raised an eyebrow, keeping my expression entirely neutral. “Are you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I had no idea what he was doing. When he told me we were getting money from the estate, he told me Arthur had set aside a special trust for our future children. He told me you were just being spiteful and keeping it from us because you were jealous of our marriage.”
“And you believed him?”
“Why wouldn't I?” she said defensively, her voice trembling. “He’s my husband! But then on Sunday... when that detective started talking about six hundred thousand dollars... and fraud... and bail bonds... I realized Mason is a monster. He’s been lying to me since the day we met.”
She leaned forward, resting her forearms on my desk, her gaze intense and desperate.
“Ethan, I’m not pregnant.”
I didn't flinch. “I know.”
She blinked, startled. “You know?”
“Arthur Pendelton pulled the medical records subpoenaed during the estate audit three weeks ago,” I said calmly. “You visited a fertility clinic two months ago, but there was no active pregnancy. Mason used that lie because he thought it would make it socially impossible for me to say no to him.”
Vanessa swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing pink. “He made me go along with it. He told me if I didn't play along, he’d lose the house. But Ethan... the house is mortgaged to the hilt. The credit cards are in my name. If he goes to prison, I’ll be bankrupt. I’ll lose everything.”
“That sounds like a conversation you should have with a divorce attorney.”
“I can't afford an attorney!” she cried, reaching across the desk to touch my hand. I pulled my hand away before her fingers could make contact.
Her hand hovered awkwardly in the air before retreating.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial purr. “I know where the files are.”
I looked at her closely. “What files?”
“Mason kept a private laptop. A silver MacBook. It’s hidden in the false ceiling of our garage. He didn't keep it at the office because he was afraid the IRS would raid the building. It has all the spreadsheets. It has the login credentials for the cryptocurrency wallets he transferred the company money into. It has the records of the kickbacks he paid to the city inspectors.”
She leaned back, watching my face to gauge the effect of her bombshell.
“He stole more than six hundred thousand, Ethan,” she whispered. “There’s almost four hundred thousand dollars in Bitcoin sitting on an encrypted ledger. Mason thinks he’s going to serve three or four years, get out on parole, and live off that money.”
“And why are you telling me this, Vanessa?”
“Because I’ll give it to you,” she said eagerly. “I’ll bring you the laptop tonight. I’ll give you the passwords. You can recover all the stolen money for the estate. You can clear your father’s debts completely.”
“And what do you want in exchange?”
Vanessa’s eyes sharpened, the mask of the innocent, victimized wife slipping just enough to reveal the predatory calculation beneath.
“I want immunity,” she said. “I want you to tell the prosecutor that I was a cooperating witness who had no knowledge of the crimes. And... I want two hundred thousand dollars from the recovered funds to settle my debts and start over in Florida.”
I stared at her for several long seconds, marveling at the sheer, unadulterated venality of the people my brother had surrounded himself with.
“You want me to pay you stolen estate money in exchange for stolen estate property,” I said slowly.
“It’s a win-win!” she urged. “Without that laptop, the prosecutor will never find the crypto wallets! Mason used offshore mixers! You’ll never recover a penny, and the family business will go into liquidation! If you help me, you get the company back, and Mason rots in prison where he belongs!”
I reached over, pressed a button on the intercom unit on my desk, and spoke clearly.
“Detective Miller? Did you get all of that on the recording?”
Vanessa froze. Her jaw slackened, her eyes darting frantically around the room until they landed on the small black microphone integrated into the conference speaker system sitting between two legal pads on the credenza.
Detective Miller’s voice crackled through the speaker, crisp, professional, and terrifying.
“Loud and clear, Ethan. Mrs. Vance, please remain seated in that office. Two officers from the precinct are waiting in the lobby to escort you to headquarters for questioning regarding conspiracy to conceal stolen assets and extortion.”
Vanessa shrieked, knocking her coffee cup over as she leaped out of the chair. The dark liquid pooled across the blotter, dripping onto the carpet.
“You bastard!” she screamed, her face contorting with rage. “You sick, twisted bastard! You recorded me?”
“You came into my office to sell out your husband for two hundred thousand dollars, Vanessa,” I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. “You and Mason deserved each other. But neither of you will ever touch my father’s money again.”
May you like
The office door opened, and two uniformed officers stepped in, handcuffs already in hand.
***
