Chapter 2 - THE STORAGE UNIT INFERNO
The fluorescent lights of the precinct flickered overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow over the interrogation room. Officer Ramos tossed a heavy manila folder onto the metal table with a sharp slap.
"Mr. and Mrs. Vance—or should I say, master manipulators," Ramos muttered, leaning against the doorframe. "We checked out that storage unit rented under your name, ma'am. Or rather, the one Gregory rented for you using a forged copy of your ID."
I sat across the table, my posture straight, hands resting calmly in my lap. I didn't say a word. I let the silence stretch, a tactic I had learned during corporate hostile takeovers.
Patricia Vance slammed her manicured hands onto the table. "This is an outrage! My son is a respected man! We are victims here of a hysterical, violent woman!"
"A victim with a storage unit containing three hidden cameras, a pre-signed confession template on a laptop, and a spreadsheet detailing every asset you owned, Mrs. Vance?" Ramos raised an eyebrow, sliding an 8x10 glossy photograph across the table.
My breath caught slightly. Even I hadn't known about the storage unit.
The photo showed a wall covered in corkboards. On those boards were printouts of my childhood photos, maps of my daily running routes, schedules of my bank meetings, and—most chillingly—a detailed timeline titled Operation Extraction.
Gregory had calculated my net worth down to the exact cent: $1.2 million in liquid assets, plus the $800,000 equity in the condominium. Beneath my name, written in red marker, was a single terrifying phrase: Eliminate resistance, liquidate assets, hospitalize for 'exhaustion', institutionalize.
"He didn't just want my money," I whispered, the realization hitting me with ice-cold clarity. "If I had been declared legally incapacitated in a psychiatric facility, he wouldn't just get power of attorney... he would control my estate indefinitely."
Gregory, sitting in the corner in handcuffs, finally raised his head. His eyes weren't filled with remorse; they were dark, venomous slits of pure hatred.
"You ruined it," Gregory hissed, his voice trembling with unhinged fury. "You were supposed to be soft. You were supposed to be grateful that a man like me even looked at an aging, workaholic drone like you. You're nothing without a man!"
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I stood up slowly, smoothing down the skirt of my dress. I looked down at the man who had tried to destroy me three days after sealing a sacred vow.
"Gregory," I said softly, leaning over the table until my face was inches from his. "You studied my balance sheets, but you forgot to check my risk assessment. And trust me... your portfolio is about to crash."
