Chapter 4
Z
The office of Apex Private Investigations smelled of stale coffee, tobacco, and expensive leather. Marcus Vance—Ethan’s older cousin, a former detective with the D.C. Metropolitan Police—sat behind a cluttered wooden desk, flicking through the printouts of Diane’s threats with an unreadable expression.
"She's thorough," Marcus muttered, setting his reader glasses down. "Standard smear campaign tactics. She’s using a shell PR firm registered in Delaware to drop these anonymous tips. That way, if you sue for defamation, it takes months just to trace the IP address back to her."
"Can you trace it faster?" I asked, leaning over his desk.
Marcus leaned back, lacing his fingers over his chest. "Natalie, in civil disputes, speed costs money. But more importantly, defense isn't going to win this for you. Diane has unlimited capital. Your father’s political campaign has deep-pocketed donors backing him. If you just defend yourself against her attacks, she'll bleed you dry through legal fees before you ever see a courtroom."
"Then how do I hit back?"
Ethan, who was standing by the window overlooking the street, turned to us. "Marcus, there has to be something. Diane didn't just appear out of thin air fifteen years ago. What about her past?"
Marcus pulled up a black database screen on his dual monitors. "Diane Sterling—now Vance. Married your dad twelve years ago, three years after your mother passed. Before that? She was a high-level executive assistant at a prominent wealth management firm in Baltimore. She left abruptly in 2012."
"Why did she leave?" I asked, a spark of curiosity igniting in my chest.
"Official record says 'personal reasons.' But I have a buddy who used to handle corporate security for that firm," Marcus said, his eyes scanning the encrypted lines of text. "There were rumors of a massive accounting discrepancy—nearly $400,000 vanished from a high-profile client's trust account. No charges were ever filed because the firm wanted to avoid a scandal. They let her resign quietly."
My breath caught in my throat. "She stole money?"
"It was never proven," Marcus cautioned, raising a finger. "Settled out of court, non-disclosure agreements signed, non-disparagement clauses locked tight. But here's the interesting part... guess who the lead financial auditor was on that client's account?"
"Who?"
Marcus looked up at me, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "Your father, Arthur Vance. That’s how they met."
The room seemed to tilt. My mind raced back through the timeline. My mother died in 2011 after a long battle with cancer. My father had been utterly devastated, or so I had believed. By late 2012, Diane was suddenly living in our house, helping my father manage his finances, organizing my mother’s belongings into garbage bags, and quietly taking control of everything.
My father hadn't just met a charming woman at a charity gala like he always told me. He met her during a financial fraud investigation.
"Did he cover for her?" I whispered, the sickening truth slowly assembling itself in my mind. "Did my father help her cover up the embezzlement?"
"If he did," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave, "that means he's not just a weak man controlling by a manipulative wife. He's an accomplice to a felony. And if that comes out, his political campaign isn't just over—he goes to federal prison."
"We need proof," I said, my chest heaving. "Not rumors. Not NDA-protected gossip. Real, hard evidence."
"I can look into the old bank records, but it’s going to take time," Marcus warned. "And right now, you have less than twelve hours before Diane sends her file to Georgetown."
"I know how to buy time," I said, a dangerous idea suddenly forming in my mind. "Diane thinks I'm desperate, scared, and weak. She expects me to break."
I pulled out my phone and dialed my father's direct number. It rang twice before he answered, his voice breathless and trembling with desperate hope.
"Natalie? Oh, thank God. Natty, are you okay?"
"Dad," I said, my tone flat, emotionless. "I got Diane's message."
"Natalie, please, listen to me," he stammered, background noise indicating he was in his campaign office. "She... she just wants us to be a family again. She's worried about the arrest record! If you just sign the affidavit saying you lost your balance—"
"I will sign it," I interrupted.
A dead silence fell over the other end of the line. Ethan stared at me in absolute shock, stepping forward to protest, but I raised my hand to stop him.
"You... you will?" my father breathed, sounding as if a immense weight had been lifted from his chest.
"Yes. Under one condition," I continued smoothly. "I want a face-to-face meeting. Tomorrow evening, at the house. Just you, me, and Diane. No lawyers, no police. We sign the non-disclosure agreements, I drop the assault charges, and you give me my mother’s personal journals and jewelry that Diane locked in the master bedroom safe."
"Of course! Anything! I'll tell Diane right now!" my father said, practically weeping with relief. "Tomorrow night at eight. Thank you, Natalie. Thank you."
"Eight o'clock, Dad," I said, and hung up.
Ethan grabbed my arm, his face pale with concern. "Are you insane? You're going back into that house? After what she did to you?"
"I'm not going there to surrender, Ethan," I said, looking at Marcus, who was already smiling, understanding my strategy. "She kept my mother's things in that safe. But Marcus... my father kept all his personal and client financial files from 2012 in that exact same safe in his study. He never throws away hard copies."
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"You're going to break into your father's safe," Marcus chuckled.
"I'm going to give Diane the illusion that she won," I said, my eyes cold as ice. "And while she's busy celebrating my surrender, I'm going to steal the gun she's been holding over my father's head for twelve years."
