Chapter 4 - The Midnight Audit
While silence settled over the fourth-floor medical suite, the subterranean basement of the Blackwood mansion was anything but quiet.
The holding room—a secure, soundproofed auxiliary security suite originally designed to temporarily detain high-risk intruders before local law enforcement arrived—was lit by a single harsh overhead fluorescent bulb.
Serena Montigue paced the perimeter of the room like a caged panther. Her designer dress was wrinkled, her hair loose and disheveled around her face, her makeup smeared beneath her eyes.
The heavy steel door unlocked with a sharp, pneumatic hiss.
Marco Ruiz stepped into the room, carrying a metal folding table and two chairs. Behind him walked two armed security guards carrying cardboard boxes stamped with the logo of the Blackwood Corporate Legal Division.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Serena shrieked, rushing toward the door. "You cannot detain me here! This is kidnapping! This is unlawful imprisonment! I demand my phone! I demand my lawyer!"
"Your lawyer dropped you fifteen minutes ago, Miss Montigue," Marco said calmly, setting the folding table down in the center of the room and sitting on one of the metal chairs. He opened a thick manila folder. "When our legal department informed his firm about the federal wire fraud and embezzlement charges tied to your offshore accounts, he respectfully suggested you plead guilty and save yourself the court fees."
Serena froze. The color completely vanished from her face, leaving her skin looking like curdled milk.
"W-Wire fraud?" she stammered, her voice pitching upward in panic. "That’s... that’s impossible. You have no proof of anything."
Marco slid a single sheet of paper across the table.
It was a bank statement from a Swiss banking institution, bearing Serena’s legal signature, detailing the siphon of four point two million dollars from the Blackwood Family Philanthropic Foundation over the past eighteen months—funds specifically earmarked for pediatric cancer research.
"Serena Montigue—or should I say, Sarah Miller, given your alias in New York five years ago before you wiped your criminal record," Marco recited smoothly, watching her reactions like a hawk. "You specialize in infiltrating wealthy households, latching onto vulnerable widowers with heavy inheritances, draining their philanthropic accounts, and eliminating any domestic staff who question your authority."
Serena gripped the edge of the table, her fingernails digging into the wood. Her chest heaved. The polished, elegant debutante was entirely gone, replaced by a hardened, desperate grifter whose house of cards had finally collapsed.
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"Victor... Victor loves me," she whispered, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears. "He invited me into his home. He trusted me."
"He trusted a ghost," Marco said coldly. "And now that ghost is going away for a very long time. Sign the confession, Miss Montigue. It won't shorten your sentence, but it might save you from the federal penitentiary's maximum-security wing."
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