Chapter 6 - The Trap ShutsTen minutes later, Emily marched out of the master suite wearing a heavy trench coat over her silk dress, rolling a Louis Vuitton suitcase behind her.
"Consider this our separation, Julian," she spat, venom dripping from every word. "I'll see you in court. And by the time I'm finished, you won't even own the clothes on your back."
She stepped into the private elevator, punching the button for the underground parking garage. The mirrored doors slid shut, reflecting her triumphant, venomous smirk right up until the final millimeter.
I finished my bourbon, set the glass down, and walked over to my laptop on the mahogany desk. I opened the live CCTV feed for the underground garage.
On the high-definition screen, Emily’s sleek white Porsche Cayenne sat idling in her reserved stall. She strode across the concrete floor, popped the trunk, tossed her suitcase inside, and slid into the driver's seat.
She put the car in reverse, backing out of the stall.
And then, the garage security gates dropped with a deafening crash, locking every exit.
On the camera feed, I watched Emily slam on her brakes, her headlights cutting wildly through the dim concrete space. She threw the car into park, leaping out and hammering her fists against the steel security shutter.
The elevator bell chimed softly behind me.
The heavy oak doors of the penthouse opened, and two uniformed Chicago police detectives stepped into the foyer, flanked by Marcus Vance.
"Mr. Moretti," the lead detective nodded, flashing a silver badge. "We received an anonymous tip regarding attempted murder, corporate espionage, and tampering with pharmaceutical records. We have a warrant to search the premises and detain Mrs. Moretti."
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I gestured toward the private elevator.
"She's in the basement parking garage," I said calmly. "And detective? Make sure she doesn't use that Louis Vuitton bag. She's carrying enough untraceable bearer bonds to fund a small revolution."
