Chapter 5 - THE NURSERY WALLS
The ventilation shaft smelled of dead leaves and industrial exhaust. I crawled backward in absolute darkness, the metal scraping against the knees of my jeans, until I reached the exterior exhaust vent overlooking the alley. I kicked the rusted louvers open and dropped six feet into the freezing mud, clutching the manila envelopes tightly.
I ran to my car, my lungs burning, and peeled out of the alley just as Victor Vance’s moving trucks began backing into the loading bay.
I drove through the sleet, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ached. Brent had sold us out. He had traded my father’s legacy for the illusion of power, completely oblivious to the fact that Sierra and Vance were playing him for a fool.
I pulled my car onto the familiar, tree-lined street of my neighborhood, parking two blocks away to avoid detection.
The rain masked my approach as I walked toward the two-story colonial I had spent three years turning into a home. The massive front windows glowed with warm, amber light. Through the rain-streaked glass, I could see them.
Brent was sitting at the head of the custom oak dining table, pouring expensive red wine. Sitting to his right was Victor Vance—a gray-haired, broad-shouldered man who looked entirely too comfortable. And directly across from Brent sat Sierra, wearing a triumphant smile.
They were drinking the wine I had imported from Italy for our anniversary.
Anger, cold and precise, sharpened my focus.
I slipped through the side gate and approached the back patio. Brent had taken my keys, but he had forgotten about the hidden keypad lock on the mudroom door—the one I had installed specifically for the dog walker we no longer employed.
I punched in the code: 0-4-1-1. Poppy’s birthday.
The lock clicked green.
I slipped inside, taking off my wet boots to avoid leaving tracks. The mudroom led directly to the back staircase, bypassing the formal dining room entirely. I could hear the murmur of their voices floating down the hall, punctuated by Brent’s arrogant laughter.
I crept up the stairs, my heart pounding in my throat.
The second floor was dark and silent. I moved swiftly down the carpeted hallway and slipped into the nursery.
The room smelled faintly of baby powder and the lavender wash I used on Poppy’s clothes. The empty crib hit me with a hollow ache, but I forced the emotion aside. I didn't have time to grieve the life I was losing. I had to secure the life I was building.
I walked over to the wooden bookshelf in the corner. Sitting on the top shelf was an intricate, hand-carved wooden music box. It was a replica of a carousel, a gift from Brent’s mother. It played a tinny version of "Clair de Lune."
I picked it up. It felt slightly heavier than it should.
I carefully twisted the golden finial on the top of the carousel. The wooden base popped open, revealing a hidden compartment.
Inside lay a sleek, black USB flash drive. The master ledger.
I let out a shaky breath, closing my fist around the drive. I had it. The absolute proof of the financial fraud, the shell companies, and the vendor manipulation. With this drive and the documents from the warehouse, Marcus could have Brent arrested by morning, and Vance’s illicit takeover would collapse.
I turned to leave.
But as I stepped toward the nursery door, a shadow fell across the threshold.
The hallway light clicked on.
Standing in the doorway, holding a crystal wine glass, was Sierra.
She wasn't smiling anymore. Her eyes were cold, calculating, and completely devoid of the sweet, rehearsed grace she had displayed downstairs.
“I wondered if you were smart enough to figure it out,” Sierra said, stepping into the nursery and softly closing the door behind her.
“Get out of my daughter's room,” I said, slipping the flash drive into my pocket.
“You can drop the wounded wife act, Elise,” Sierra sighed, taking a sip of her wine. “We both know you found the safe at the warehouse. Vance’s men called me five minutes ago. They found the vent open. They knew someone had been there.”
She looked at my damp clothes. “And clearly, you just crawled out of a hole.”
“You’re a corporate spy,” I stated calmly. “Vance paid you to seduce my idiot husband so he would willingly sign over my family’s holding company.”
Sierra laughed—a sharp, genuine sound.
“Vance didn't pay me,” Sierra said. The reversal landed softly, but it struck deep. “Victor Vance is my father, Elise. My maiden name is Sierra Vance.”
The floor seemed to drop out from beneath me. Victor Vance’s daughter. The ultimate Trojan horse.
“Brent destroyed my sister’s catering business three years ago through a predatory supply contract,” Sierra said, her voice dropping the sweet act entirely. “She lost her home. She lost her marriage. Brent laughed it off as ‘just business.’ So, my father and I decided to show him what ‘just business’ actually looks like.”
“By destroying me in the process?” I asked.
“You’re collateral damage,” Sierra shrugged. “Give me the flash drive, Elise. If you hand it over right now, my father will let you keep this house in the divorce. We’ll bankrupt Brent, send him to federal prison for bank fraud, and you and your baby can live in peace. We just want the company.”
It was a tempting offer. Walk away, let Sierra destroy the husband who had betrayed me, and keep my home.
But I thought of my father. I thought of the thirty years he had spent building the Avery legacy with integrity. I thought of letting a predator like Vance take everything we had built.
“No,” I said.
Sierra’s eyes narrowed. “Don't be stupid, Elise. You can't fight us. If you walk out of this room with that drive, I’ll scream. I’ll tell Brent you broke in and attacked me. Vance’s driver is a heavily armed security contractor waiting in the driveway. You won't make it to your car.”
“You think I’m afraid of a scene?” I asked softly.
I looked at the baby monitor sitting on the changing table. It was the expensive, two-way audio model Brent had insisted on buying.
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What Sierra didn't know was that I had synced the monitor’s primary receiver to the surround-sound speakers in the living room downstairs.
I reached out and pressed the green "Broadcast" button.
