Chapter 5 - THE UNINVITED GUESTBy evening, the news of Preston’s total collapse had triggered a massive ripple effect across the New York financial sector.
Federal investigators had formally raided Hale Enterprises' headquarters down in the Financial District, carting away servers, filing cabinets, and boxes of financial records. The Westbridge acquisition deal had officially fallen through, with Westbridge's CEO issuing a scathing public statement distancing their company completely from Hale’s fraudulent activities.
I was sitting in my private study reviewing a portfolio of commercial properties when the penthouse doorbell chimed again.
Not the elevator chime. The actual front doorbell.
I frowned, glancing at the security monitor on my desk.
Standing outside my private foyer doors was not Preston. It was Sloane Avery.
She looked entirely different from the glittering, triumphant woman who had stood under the crystal chandeliers of the Mayfair Grand just twenty-four hours earlier. Her red satin dress was gone, replaced by a simple black trench coat. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, her face devoid of makeup, and her eyes were swollen and red from hours of hysterical crying.
She kept pressing the doorbell repeatedly, a frantic, rhythmic tapping that echoed through the quiet penthouse.
I pressed the intercom button. "Sloane. If you don't leave right now, I’ll have building security escort you out in handcuffs for trespassing."
The speaker buzzed with her ragged, trembling voice. "Eleanor! Please! Just open the door! I need to talk to you! Please, you’re the only one who can understand!"
I stared at the monitor for a moment, a cold curiosity stirring in my chest. What could a discarded mistress possibly have to say to the wife she had tried to destroy?
"Open the service door by the kitchen," I said flatly. "And walk straight into the living room. Don't touch anything."
A minute later, the heavy glass door slid open, and Sloane stepped into the opulent living room. She looked around nervously, like a stray animal trapped in a cage, before spotting me standing in the doorway of my study with my arms crossed over my chest.
She walked toward me, her hands trembling violently inside the pockets of her coat.
"You won," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You destroyed him. You destroyed everything he built overnight."
"I didn't destroy him, Sloane," I replied calmly. "I just stopped protecting him from the consequences of his own actions. There is a distinct difference."
Sloane let out a bitter, choked laugh, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you won because you have the Hartwell name and the family trust behind you. But you don't know the half of it."
My eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you talking about?"
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Sloane reached into her trench coat pocket, pulled out a thick, manila envelope, and tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a heavy, ominous thud.
"Preston didn't just steal from Westbridge to buy me a penthouse," Sloane said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, venomous whisper. "He was hiding something much bigger. And if you think you're safe just because you threw him out, you're profoundly mistaken."
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