Chapter 9 - Adrian's Doubt
The crash through the wet slate roof knocked the breath from Naomi’s lungs, but the dense decorative ivy broke her fall into the mud of the courtyard gardens.
She didn't stop to assess her injuries. Adrenaline burned like kerosene in her veins. She cleared the perimeter gate through a maintenance gap she had spotted earlier, vanished into the dark woods bordering the estate, and reached the rendezvous point where David Chen was waiting with the car running.
By 2:00 AM, they were inside David’s private diagnostic lab in Stamford.
Naomi sat on an examination stool while David stitched a two-inch laceration on her shoulder. She didn't flinch once. Her eyes were fixed on the centrifuge spinning on the counter.
“The IV bag you pulled was loaded with three hundred milligrams of Thalapram,” David reported, reading the preliminary spectrum analyzer. “At that concentration, Evelyn’s respiratory center would have paralyzed within six hours. It would have looked like sudden cardiac failure secondary to her previous pneumonia.”
“She’s keeping Evelyn alive until nine,” Naomi said, staring at the clock on the wall. “Until the press conference. Adrian will announce the merger and the trust transfer simultaneously.”
“Naomi, we have enough to go to the FBI,” David insisted, tying off the suture. “This isn't a domestic squabble anymore. This is corporate espionage, attempted murder, and interstate wire fraud.”
“The FBI will take forty-eight hours to verify the chain of custody on this evidence,” Naomi said, standing up and pulling on a fresh black sweater. “By then, Evelyn will be cremated and Celeste will be Mrs. Adrian Vale.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“I’m going back to the Greenwich house,” Naomi said.
“Are you insane? The Greenwich police have a warrant out for your arrest! They found the jewelry box in your trunk—Celeste had someone tip them off!”
“I moved the jewelry box,” Naomi said calmly. “They found an empty trunk. And right now, Adrian is alone in that house.”
“Adrian thinks you’re a monster, Naomi!”
“Adrian is terrified,” Naomi countered. “Because for the first time in his life, his money can't fix what’s broken. He knows something is wrong. He just needs someone to show him the signature on the check.”
***
At 4:15 AM, the Greenwich estate was shrouded in heavy fog.
Adrian Vale sat in the darkened library, a glass of twenty-year-old Scotch resting untouched on the mahogany desk. The fire had burned down to cold gray ash.
The house was eerily silent. Celeste was still in Westchester, supposedly “keeping vigil” at Evelyn’s bedside while Adrian prepared for the biggest morning of his corporate life.
On the desk in front of Adrian lay three documents:
1. The Vale Meridian IPO prospectus.
2. The proxy authorization transferring all voting power of the Van Cortlandt Family Trust to Adrian Vale.
3. A secondary survivorship amendment, drafted by Celeste’s personal attorneys, granting Celeste full voting control in the event of Adrian’s death or medical incapacity.
Adrian picked up the fountain pen. His hand was trembling.
He remembered what Naomi had said in the boiler room: *“I empty your wastebaskets. And unlike you, Adrian, I actually read what your fiancée throws away.”*
He threw the pen down. He pressed his palms into his eyes.
“Why didn't you sign it?”
A quiet voice came from the shadow behind the velvet drapes.
Adrian surged to his feet, knocking his chair backward. “Who’s there? Security!”
“Security won't hear you, Adrian,” Naomi said, stepping out from the shadows into the faint glow of the desk lamp. “I turned off the circuit breakers to the west gatehouse ten minutes ago. Just like I used to do when your father had secret meetings with the state auditors.”
Adrian stared at her. His eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard. “Naomi... they have a warrant for you. Celeste told me you tried to break into St. Jude’s tonight.”
“I didn't break in, Adrian. I walked in. And I spoke to your mother.”
Adrian froze. “She’s in a coma.”
“She was in a chemical cage,” Naomi said, taking the sealed vial of Thalapram from her coat and placing it heavily onto the mahogany desk. “Take this to an independent lab. Not Dr. Voss. Not the hospital board. Any independent toxicologist in the country. This was in the IV line connected to your mother’s arm tonight.”
Adrian looked at the vial, his chest heaving. “What is it?”
“It’s the drug that was going to kill her at six this morning,” Naomi said. “Manufactured by Arden Capital. Owned by Celeste Vane.”
Adrian flinched at the surname. “Vane? Her name is Arden.”
May you like
“Her father was Thomas Vane, Adrian,” Naomi said softly. “The man your father ruined fifteen years ago.”
***
