Chapter 4 - The Safehouse of the Independent
Meanwhile, my rideshare dropped me off fifty blocks away at a sleek, high-rise boutique hotel downtown. I paid the driver, tipped generously, and walked into the grand lobby dragging my suitcase behind me.
The front desk clerk looked up, smiling politely. “Welcome to The Meridian. How may I assist you today?”
“I’d like a corner suite for the next two weeks, please,” I said, placing my credit card and my driver’s license on the marble counter. “And I’ll need it charged to a secure corporate profile.”
“Right away, Ms. Vance,” the clerk said, his fingers flying across the terminal. Within two minutes, the key card was handed over with a respectful nod.
Up in the suite, I walked straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the bustling Chicago streets below. The sun was fully up now, casting brilliant reflections off the glass skyscrapers.
I set my backpack on the desk, unzipped it, and pulled out the $45,000 cashier’s check my parents had given me as a wedding gift—which Julian had arrogantly insisted we deposit into his personal business account to “maximize tax efficiency.” Fortunately, before signing the deposit slip yesterday morning, I had caught a glimpse of Julian’s erratic financial history on his laptop screen while he was in the shower. I had quietly slipped the check back into my purse, replacing it with a blank slip of paper while he wasn’t looking.
My father, Arthur Vance, had taught me one rule above all others in the world of high finance: Never trust a man who spends more energy projecting success than building substance.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number. It picked up on the second ring.
“Elena, sweetheart,” my father’s deep, steady voice filled the line. “How is married life? Did you survive the first night with your ambitious husband?”
“Well, Dad,” I said, leaning back against the plush leather chair with a soft laugh. “The marriage lasted exactly fourteen hours. Then he threw a grease-soaked rag in my face, told me I was his maid, and his mother tried to make me scrub the kitchen.”
There was a terrifying, absolute silence on the other end of the line for three full seconds. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop.
When my father spoke again, his voice was dangerously calm, devoid of any warmth. “Where are you?”
“I’m at The Meridian downtown. Suit 1402.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Physically? No. Financially and professionally? He’s about to be erased.”
Arthur let out a slow, cold breath that sounded remarkably like a predator locking onto its prey. “Good. The legal team has been reviewing his corporate expenditures for the past three months anyway. We were waiting to see if he’d show even a shred of integrity after the wedding before we lowered the boom. Since he chose to act like a tyrant, we’ll treat him like a corporate embezzler.”
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“Leave the forensic audit to me, Dad,” I smiled, spinning a pen between my fingers. “I left a nice little parting gift on his corporate server before I walked down the aisle. By Monday morning, Julian Reynolds won't even be able to buy a cup of coffee with his own name.”
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