Chapter 13 - The Ghost of Brentwood
The immediate aftermath of Julian’s arrest sent shockwaves through the financial world. Victoria Vance fled the Plaza Hotel through a private underground exit, pursued by federal investigators eager to question her regarding foreign corporate fraud. The media, which had briefly flirted with Julian’s fabricated sob story, turned on him with merciless ferocity.
By evening, Khloe sat in the grand library of Gabriel’s Fifth Avenue penthouse. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany shelves. Baby Elena was asleep upstairs under the watchful care of two private nurses.
Gabriel walked into the room, holding two crystal tumblers of aged Scotch. He handed one to Khloe, sitting beside her on the leather Chesterfield sofa.
"Marcus just confirmed," Gabriel said, taking a slow sip. "Julian’s bail hearing was denied. Flight risk, prior probation violation, and international asset evasion. He’ll await trial at the Metropolitan Correctional Center."
Khloe rested her head against Gabriel’s shoulder, staring into the flames. "It’s funny. When I walked into that ballroom today, I thought I would feel triumphant seeing him in cuffs again. But all I felt was exhaustion. How long will this ghost keep haunting us, Gabriel?"
Gabriel set his glass down and gently turned her face toward him. "Julian was never the ghost, Khloe. He was just a weapon Victoria picked up off the street. The real fight has always been with the people who think power is an inherited birthright."
"Victoria won't stop, will she?" Khloe asked softly.
"She doesn't have a choice anymore," Gabriel replied, his jaw hardening. "She’s cornered. The Department of Justice opened an inquiry into her Zurich operations this afternoon. When old money gets cornered, they get reckless."
Before Khloe could reply, the secure phone on Gabriel’s desk rang. It was an internal line connected directly to the penthouse lobby.
Gabriel stood up and answered it. "Speak."
A pause. Gabriel’s brow furrowed. "Send her up. But strip her of everything at the checkpoint."
Khloe sat up straight. "Who is it?"
"A ghost from your old life," Gabriel said quietly, putting down the receiver. "Dalia Gomez."
Five minutes later, the private elevator doors opened. Two security guards escorted a woman into the library.
Khloe barely recognized the former Miss Universe.
Dalia wore an oversized beige trench coat, worn sneakers, and no makeup. Her once-flawless hair was pulled into a greasy ponytail, and dark purple circles bruised the hollows beneath her eyes. Her reign had been stripped; her corporate endorsements had vanished; her family in Miami had disowned her after the fraud trial. She was living in a cheap studio in Queens, surviving off low-end promotional gigs and the humiliation of her court-mandated restitution payments.
Dalia stood near the doorway, trembling, clutching a battered designer handbag to her chest like a shield.
"What are you doing here, Dalia?" Khloe asked, her voice flat, devoid of pity or anger.
Dalia swallowed hard, looking between Khloe and Gabriel. "I saw the news about Julian on Twitter. I know he was arrested at the Plaza."
"If you're here to ask for leniency on your two-hundred-dollar monthly payments," Khloe said coldly, "you took the subway for nothing."
"No!" Dalia blurted out, taking a frantic step forward before Gabriel’s guards shifted to block her. "I don't care about the money! I’m here because Julian didn't reach out to Victoria Vance. Victoria Vance didn't find him in Rome."
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Explain yourself."
Dalia began to cry, silent, ugly tears tracking down her unpowdered cheeks. "Before Julian and I ever went public at the charity gala... before you walked in pregnant, Khloe... Julian received a payment from an offshore account in the Caymans. Two million dollars."
Khloe stood up slowly, her heart skipping a beat. "What are you talking about?"
"Julian was drowning in debt long before he left you, Khloe," Dalia choked out. "He told me he had an anonymous patron who promised to wipe out his company’s losses on one condition: that he humiliate you publicly, divorce you without a penny, and make sure you were utterly destroyed so you would leave New York forever."
Khloe’s breath stopped. She looked at Gabriel. Gabriel’s face was like granite.
"Why would anyone care if Khloe left New York before she even met me?" Gabriel asked, his voice deathly quiet.
Dalia reached into her bag with shaking hands, pulling out a faded manila envelope, handing it to the nearest guard.
"Because," Dalia whispered, looking at Khloe with genuine terror, "Julian wasn't being paid by Victoria Vance. He was being paid by your late father’s estate, Gabriel. Before your father died, he left a secret codicil in his will. If Gabriel Vance married a woman who already had an established architectural firm in Manhattan, the entire family trust would dissolve and split fifty-fifty between Victoria and Gabriel."
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Khloe gasped.
Dalia looked down at the floor, sobbing. "Julian was paid to marry you, ruin you, and keep you away from Gabriel’s world forever. You were targeted, Khloe. You’ve been targeted from the very beginning."
