Victoria: You called the police to our private residential gates?!
Julian: I didn't call them for a domestic disturbance, Victoria. I called them to execute a federal warrant.
Victoria: A federal warrant for what?! My family runs legitimate coastal shipping logistics!
Julian: Your family laundered eighteen million dollars through offshore shell corporations in Belize.
Victoria: That money was an emergency loan facility to support our cargo lines during the supply chain crisis!
Julian: That money was stolen directly from Isabella's maternal inheritance trust fund, Victoria!
Victoria's breath caught in her throat, her manicured fingers clawing at the limestone riser.
Victoria: That trust fund belonged to our marital estate! Clara was a penniless orphan when you married her!
Julian: Clara was a brilliant software architect who built the automated logistics network that made this empire possible!
Victoria: Clara died broke! Her daughter is an irritating complication that ruined everything we were building!
Julian: That complication is the sole legal owner of every single square foot of this mansion, Victoria.
Victoria: She owns nothing until she turns twenty-one! And as her stepmother, I had full parental guardianship rights!
Julian: You had zero legal rights, Victoria. And after what you did this morning, your only right is a public defender.
The heavy front doors of the estate swung open from inside, and Mrs. Gable, the longtime head housekeeper, hurried onto the porch.
She held a clean medical basin filled with warm water, antiseptic wash, and soft white cotton towels.
Mrs. Gable: Mr. Sterling! I saw your car pull up the drive! Oh merciful God, look at little Isabella's hands!
Julian: Take Isabella inside to the sitting room, Martha. Clean her cuts and get her prescribed inhaler immediately.
Mrs. Gable: Come to Nana, my precious baby angel. Let's get these nasty thorns washed away.
Victoria: Mrs. Gable has no authority in this house! I dismissed that old woman yesterday afternoon!
Julian: Mrs. Gable has worked for my family for twenty-five years, Victoria. You don't dismiss anyone.
Mrs. Gable scooped Isabella into her arms, shooting a look of pure, unyielding venom at the woman on the steps.
Mrs. Gable: God will punish you for what you've done to this sweet child, Victoria. The devil has a special room waiting for you.
Mrs. Gable carried the weeping girl inside, the heavy oak doors closing securely behind them.
Victoria pushed herself up against the carved stone balustrade, her white silk robe coated in grime and wet mulch.
Victoria: You can't prove I forced her to carry that bag, Julian! It's your word and an imaginative child's word against mine!
Julian: Look up at the decorative brass light fixture mounted above the front portico, Victoria.
Victoria slowly tilted her head back, her eyes landing on the antique bronze lantern hanging from the stone archway.
Concealed inside the lower glass panel was a tiny, high-definition satellite camera pulsing with a steady blue diode.
Julian: That camera uploads forty-eight frames per second in 4K resolution directly to my private office server.
Victoria gasped, her hand flying to her throat as paralyzing, suffocating dread gripped her chest.
Victoria: You told me the exterior security system was disconnected for terrace pressure washing!
Julian: The public security lines were disconnected, Victoria. The private executive satellite feeds run twenty-four hours a day.
Victoria: You... You set a trap for me inside your own home?!
Julian: I set a guard to protect my motherless daughter from a predator who saw her as an obstacle to sixty million dollars.
Four black-and-white Dallas police cruisers roared through the front security gates, their sirens screaming through the morning heat.
They skidded to a halt in a semi-circle around the garden courtyard, gravel flying against the stone curbs.
Flashing red and blue emergency lights painted the white limestone pillars of the mansion in rapid, rhythmic strokes.