Chapter 6 - The New Master of the HouseThe morning sun broke over the Atlantic, painting the Hamptons coastline in brilliant strokes of gold and crimson. But the light brought no warmth to the stone fortress of the Sterling Estate.
Avery stood on the massive second-floor balcony, wearing a simple black cashmere sweater and tailored trousers. Gone was the suffocating off-the-shoulder floral gown, the understated diamonds, and the forced, trembling smile she had worn for three agonizing years. Her dark hair was tied back in a loose, functional ponytail.
Down on the sweeping gravel driveway, federal marshals were loading boxes of seized documents and confiscated hard drives into black vans. Beyond the iron gates, a mob of journalists, photographers, and television crews pressed against the perimeter, their camera lenses gleaming like a pack of wolves waiting for raw meat.
A soft knock sounded at the door behind her.
Arthur stepped out onto the balcony, holding a heavy leather briefcase in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other. He handed the mug to Avery, leaning against the stone balustrade beside her.
"The morning news programs are calling it the corporate execution of the decade," Arthur said quietly, watching a helicopter hover lazily a mile offshore. "Sterling Financial's stock crashed ninety-eight percent before the Tokyo exchange even opened. The board of directors has resigned en masse to avoid obstruction charges. Victoria is being held without bail at Manhattan Detention Center."
Avery took a slow sip of the coffee, letting the heat settle in her chest. "And Liam?"
"Liam is crying in a holding cell, begging his defense attorney to secure a plea deal," Arthur replied without a trace of sympathy. "He thought his last name was a shield against gravity. He’s about to find out how hard the pavement is from the top floor."
"Good," Avery said, her voice devoid of anger, entirely purged of the fear that had defined her existence since the day she walked down the aisle of this very house. "Let him feel it."
She turned away from the view of the driveway, walking back into the master suite where baby Leo was just beginning to stir in his crib. She walked over, lifting her son into her arms. The baby let out a soft, sleepy yawn, his tiny fingers curling instinctively around the fabric of her sweater.
"You're not a Sterling anymore, little man," Avery whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "You're a Cross. And nobody is ever going to buy, sell, or trade your life again."
As if on cue, her cell phone buzzed loudly on the mahogany nightstand.
May you like
She picked it up. The caller ID flashed a private number, followed by the New York area code. She swiped to answer and placed the phone to her ear.
"Avery Cross speaking," she said, her voice commanding, effortless, and absolute.
