Chapter 4 - The Trap at the Savoy
Z
The private dining room at The Savoy Hotel was opulent, bathed in warm golden light from a crystal chandelier, with a table set for two with fine porcelain and silver cutlery. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the River Thames stretched out like a dark, glossy ribbon beneath the city lights.
Ethan sat at the table, looking grotesquely out of place in an expensive tailored suit that Victoria’s team had clearly bought for him. He had already finished off two glasses of vintage scotch and was chewing aggressively on a steak when the doors opened and Chloe walked in.
Mark Harrison stayed by the door, his imposing frame blocking the exit, while I stood just outside in the hallway, watching through the slightly parted double doors, my heart leaping into my throat.
Ethan looked up, a sickening smirk spreading across his face. "Well, well, well... look at you, little Chloe. From wearing hand-me-downs in a rundown trailer town to living like a damn queen in London."
Chloe didn't smile. She walked over, pulled out a chair across from him, and sat down. Her posture was calm, regal, and entirely unbothered.
"Hello, Ethan," she said softly.
Ethan leaned back, crossing his arms, his eyes scanning her greedily. "You know, when those fancy lawyers showed up at my parole officer's office with a briefcase full of cash, I couldn't believe it. My quiet little nursing girlfriend turned out to be the biggest scam artist in Europe. Eighty million pounds? Damn, Chloe... I always knew you were smart, but this is next level."
"You haven't changed at all," Chloe observed, her voice devoid of emotion. "Still arrogant, still desperate, and still completely oblivious to how out of your depth you are."
Ethan’s smirk twitched, a flash of his notorious temper showing beneath the surface. "Watch your mouth, girl. I’m the one holding the cards here. Tomorrow morning, I tell fifty journalists that you were texting me from Arthur’s deathbed, telling me we’d be rich as soon as the old bastard kicked the bucket. I got fake chat logs, Chloe. Victoria’s team made them look real as hell. One press conference, and your little fairytale is over."
"I know," Chloe said simply.
Ethan blinked, thrown off by her lack of panic. "You... you know?"
"Of course I know," Chloe said. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a sleek black leather folder, and placed it on the table between them. "Victoria offered you two hundred thousand dollars to ruin my reputation, right?"
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "So what if she did?"
"I'm offering you two million," Chloe said cleanly.
Ethan froze. The fork in his hand slipped, clattering against his porcelain plate. He stared at her, his jaw slightly open. "Two... two million?"
"Tax-free. Deposited into a private account in Dubai," Chloe continued without missing a beat. "No conditions, no strings attached—except one. You don't go to the press conference tomorrow. You take a private jet tonight to South Africa, where a luxury estate is waiting for you, and you never step foot in Europe or America again."
I gasped silently from the hallway. Two million dollars?! Where was she getting that kind of money? Was she really giving in to his blackmail?
Ethan’s eyes lit up with pure, unadulterated greed. His tongue practically darted out to wet his dry lips. "Two million... Jesus Christ, Chloe..." He leaned forward, his arrogance returning tenfold. "I knew you still cared about me. I knew you couldn't resist."
"Do we have a deal?" Chloe asked, opening the folder to reveal a signed bank transfer authorization document.
Ethan grabbed the pen from his jacket pocket, his hands literally shaking with excitement. "Hell yeah, we got a deal! Give me that!"
He leaned over the table, pressing the pen to the paper—
"Wait," Ethan paused, a sudden wave of paranoia washing over his drug-addled brain. He pulled back, pointing the pen at her suspiciously. "Why Dubai? Why South Africa? Why not just give me a check right now?"
"Because," Chloe said, leaning back and folding her hands in her lap, "if I gave you a check right now, you’d spend it on cocaine and overdose in a Soho nightclub within forty-eight hours."
Ethan snapped. He slammed his fist on the table, knocking over a crystal wine glass, which shattered across the floor. "Don't you play games with me, you little bitch!" he yelled, rising to his feet, his violent past exploding into the room. "You think you’re better than me now cause you married some half-dead old billionaire?! You’re nothing but a trashy nurse who got lucky! You’re gonna give me five million, or I swear to God I’ll beat you senseless right here and take everything!"
He reached across the table to grab Chloe’s throat.
Mark stepped forward instantly, but Chloe held up a single hand, stopping Mark in his tracks. She didn't move an inch. She didn't even blink as Ethan’s hand hovered inches from her face.
"Thank you, Ethan," Chloe said, her voice chillingly quiet. "That was exactly what we needed."
Ethan frowned. "What?"
Chloe pointed up to the discrete Smoke Detector on the ceiling directly above the dining table. Inside its plastic casing, a microscopic red light was flashing rhythmically.
"High-definition audio and video camera," Chloe explained coldly. "Directly livestreamed to a secure server at Scotland Yard, as well as the legal team representing Vance Global Logistics."
Ethan’s face drained of color. "You... you recorded me?"
"Attempted extortion of a public figure, corporate sabotage conspiracy, threats of physical violence, and breach of international parole terms," Chloe listed off, pulling a secondary document from her bag. "Victoria Vance didn't tell you, did she? Because you signed her representation agreement, you are legally classified as an agent working on her behalf. Every threat you just made on camera, every demand for money, and your confession about the fake chat logs... it all legally attributes directly to Victoria."
The double doors of the private room burst open. Four uniformed officers from the Metropolitan Police walked in, led by a stern-looking female detective.
"Ethan Vance," Detective Inspector Miller said, pulling out a pair of steel handcuffs. "You are under arrest for attempted extortion, terroristic threats, and conspiracy to commit fraud. You have the right to remain silent..."
"No! Wait! She tricked me! She offered me two million dollars!" Ethan screamed, thrashing wildly as the officers tackled him against the mahogany table, pinning his arms behind his back. "Victoria Vance paid me! It was Victoria!"
"We know," Detective Miller said calmly, snapping the cuffs onto his wrists. "And we have a warrant for her arrest waiting at her home right now."
As the police dragged the screaming, sobbing wreck of Ethan out of the room, Chloe sat motionless, watching him go. She didn't look triumphant. She just looked sad.
I ran into the room and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Oh, baby... you were incredible. But my God, I was so scared!"
Chloe buried her face in my shoulder for a brief second, allowing herself to be my little girl again. "I had to do it, Mom," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "If I didn't crush them completely, they would never stop coming for us."
She pulled back, wiped a single tear from her eye, and looked at Mark. "Mark, make sure that video recording is delivered to Julian and Sebastian by midnight. Tell them that if they don't sign a formal, legally binding renunciation of all claims against Arthur's estate by 9:00 AM tomorrow... Victoria won't be the only Vance sibling wearing an orange jumpsuit."
Mark grinned, a deep, satisfied expression. "Consider it done, Mrs. Vance."
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That night, as we drove back through the glowing streets of London, I realized my daughter had completely transformed. She was no longer just the compassionate nurse who cared for the sick. She had become a guardian dragon, protecting Arthur's legacy with ruthless efficiency.
But as victorious as we felt, I knew that a wounded animal is most dangerous when cornered. Julian Vance was about to lose everything—his reputation, his fortune, and his sister. And a man like Julian wouldn't go down without burning the whole house down with him.
