Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
When Vincent returned to the Lake Forest estate late that afternoon, the heavy mahogany doors closed behind him with the finality of a prison cell.
Sophia was waiting for him in the grand foyer, holding a fresh crystal glass of bourbon. She wore a soft cashmere sweater, her eyes wide with carefully manufactured innocence.
“Vincent, thank God you’re home,” she said, rushing toward him with an outstretched hand. “I’ve been worried sick. You walked out of the auction without your security team. Please, tell me you’re not still obsessing over that woman.”
Vincent didn't take the glass. He didn't look at her face. He walked past her, his heavy steps echoing against the limestone floor.
“Pack your bags, Sophia.”
Sophia froze mid-step. The color instantly drained from her cheeks. “What… what did you say?”
Vincent stopped at the base of the grand staircase. He turned slowly, his hands resting inside his trouser pockets. His slate-grey eyes were devoid of light.
“I want you out of this house,” Vincent said quietly. “By sunset.”
Sophia let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. “Vincent, you’re not making any sense. Are you punishing me because some stranger looks like Anna? I’ve stood by you for three years! I held you while you cried! I pulled you out of the darkness when you wanted to end your life!”
“And why was I in the darkness, Sophia?” Vincent asked, his voice chillingly calm.
Sophia swallowed hard. “Because… because of the accident.”
“It wasn't an accident.”
The words hit the foyer like a detonation.
Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted frantically toward the doorway. “What… of course it was an accident. The NTSB report—”
“Marcus intercepted a wire transfer an hour ago,” Vincent interrupted, taking a slow, predatory step toward her. “Three million dollars routed from your private Swiss account to an offshore entity owned by Greg Daniels. Do you remember Greg Daniels, Sophia?”
Sophia took a step back, her back hitting the marble banister. “Vincent, I can explain—”
“He was the chief logistics officer for our private hangar,” Vincent’s voice dropped into a lethal whisper, his veins bulging along his neck. “Marcus picked him up twenty minutes ago at O’Hare. He started singing the second he saw the inside of a Moretti basement.”
Sophia’s knees buckled. She dropped the crystal glass. It shattered violently against the marble floor, dark bourbon splashing across her bare feet like blood.
“Vincent, no… listen to me!” she sobbed, dropping to her knees, reaching for the hem of his trousers. “I did it for us! She was taking you away from me! You were going to leave everything behind for her! She wasn't one of us, Vincent! She was weak!”
Vincent looked down at her with a disgust so profound it bordered on pity.
“She survived a fire that would have cremated you in seconds,” Vincent said, his voice shaking with restrained violence. “She crawled through the snow with my son inside her while you were drinking champagne in a hospital suite.”
“Vincent, please! I love you! I’ve always loved you!” Sophia wept, clutching his shoe.
Vincent pulled his foot back, stepping over the shattered glass without a word.
May you like
“If you are still in this house when the sun goes down,” Vincent said, not looking back as he walked toward the door, “I won't call the police. I will let Marcus handle you the way my father used to handle traitors. Run, Sophia. Run as far as you can.”
***
