Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the Study
Within twenty minutes, the private courtyard of the Vale estate resembled a federal crime scene.
An emergency rescue unit had stabilized baby Owen, pumping cool IV fluids into his tiny veins and rushing him under police escort to Baltimore General Hospital, accompanied by Hannah and Mrs. Bell.
Meanwhile, the main study—usually a quiet sanctuary for corporate strategy and legal contracts—had been locked from the inside.
Adrian sat behind his heavy mahogany desk. He hadn’t washed the blood off his forearm from the shattered glass; the dark stain was smeared across his white dress shirt cuff.
Standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows were Victor Shaw and his terrified junior associate, Grant Mercer.
And sitting in the leather armchair across from Adrian was Natalie Cross, shivering despite the oppressive summer heat, flanked by two of Adrian’s armed guards blocking the double doors.
“You’re finished, Natalie,” Adrian said. His voice was terrifyingly calm, dropping into a low register that sent shivers through the room. “Every word you uttered in the driveway was recorded by the perimeter security cameras. Not just the audio of you admitting you wanted to prove a point, but the timeline. You parked that car at 1:15 p.m. You walked into the house at 1:35 p.m. You knew Owen was in the back for twenty minutes before Maisie even noticed.”
“Adrian, please,” Natalie wept, dabbing at her dry eyes with a tissue. “You have to understand. Your lawyers told me yesterday that the custody judge was leaning toward giving you sole custody because of my social media lifestyle. I was desperate! I just wanted to show the court that the house is chaotic, that Hannah isn't paying attention—!”
“You used my son as a pawn,” Adrian interrupted, leaning forward. “You baked him alive in a car to win a legal dispute.”
Victor Shaw swallowed hard, adjusting his glasses. “Adrian, as your counsel, I must advise that we handle this discretely. If this goes to trial, the media scrutiny on your business holdings—”
“My business holdings are the least of your concerns right now, Victor,” Adrian cut him off, his piercing gaze shifting to the attorney. “You drafted her custody filings. You sat in my study ten minutes before Maisie screamed and assured me the baby was upstairs asleep. Were you aware she had him in the car?”
Victor recoiled as if he had been slapped. “Good God, no! I swear to you, Adrian! I thought he was in the nursery! I didn't know anything about the car!”
“Prove it,” Adrian said softly.
Grant Mercer, the trembling junior associate, suddenly stepped forward, holding his tablet out with shaking hands. “Mr. Vale... I can prove it. I didn't know about the car either, but... but I have something else.”
Adrian looked at him. “What is it?”
Grant swallowed hard, tapping the screen. “Before Natalie came inside today... she dropped her phone in the foyer. I picked it up. And I saw a text message thread between her and... and Victor’s senior partner, Marcus Cole.”
The room went completely dead.
Victor froze, his face turning the color of ash. “Grant... you lying little bastard—shut your mouth!”
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“It’s not a lie,” Grant said, his voice trembling as he held out the tablet. “They weren't just plotting the custody case, Mr. Vale. They were planning a corporate buyout behind your back, using Natalie as leverage to force you into a settlement that would strip you of your shipping port shares.”
Adrian stood up slowly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
