Chapter 16 - The Interrogation of Blood and Loyalty
The grand ballroom of Vance Tower, usually filled with crystal chandeliers, symphonic music, and high-society galas, looked like a military black site. Twenty-four staff members—chefs, maids, drivers, and housekeepers—stood in a rigid line under the blinding glare of auxiliary floodlights.
Armored security guards stood with arms crossed behind every exit.
In the center of the room sat a single mahogany table with the tin of tainted chamomile tea resting under a spotlight.
Maria walked into the room ahead of Alexander. Her heart shattered at the sight of her old friends. Rosa, a woman in her fifties who had taught Maria how to polish silver without scratching the crest, was weeping softly into an apron. Elena, a young girl from Colombia who had only joined the staff six months ago, was trembling so violently she could barely stand.
Alexander entered behind her. The air in the room instantly vanished. When Alexander Vance looked at a person with judgment, it felt like standing before a firing squad.
"One of you took thirty pieces of silver to murder my mother," Alexander said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings like thunder. "The digitalis was traced to an offshore transfer made yesterday morning. Five hundred thousand dollars to an account in the Cayman Islands."
He stepped closer to the line of servants.
"I don't care about the money. But the person who placed poison in my mother’s cup will spend the rest of their natural life in a supermax facility where they will never see the sun again. Step forward now, and I let your family keep the house you bought with that blood money. Force me to find out myself, and I will erase your entire bloodline from the financial grid."
Terror swept the line. Several maids dropped to their knees, praying in Spanish and Italian.
"Alexander, stop," Maria said softly, placing her hand gently on his forearm.
The security guards glanced at each other in shock; nobody ever told Alexander Vance to stop when his wrath was unleashed. But Alexander paused, looking down at Maria.
"Let me speak to them," Maria requested. "They fear you. When people are terrified, the innocent confess just to make the pain stop. Let me do this."
Alexander held her gaze for three long seconds. Finally, he gave a single, tight nod and stepped back into the shadows.
Maria walked slowly toward the line. She knelt before Rosa, taking the older woman’s rough, trembling hands into her own. The contrast between Maria’s massive twelve-carat diamond and Rosa’s worn, soap-battered knuckles was stark, yet Maria held her with absolute tenderness.
"Rosa," Maria whispered in Spanish. "Look at me."
Rosa lifted tear-streaked eyes. "Maria... I swear by the Virgin Mary, I loved Mrs. Vance. She paid for my daughter’s surgery. I would cut off my own hands before I hurt her."
"I know," Maria said gently. She moved down the line, meeting the eyes of each worker. She knew their stories, their debts, their families. And then, she stopped in front of Elena.
The young maid wouldn't look up. Her hands were clenched so tight her fingernails were cutting into her palms.
"Elena," Maria said, her tone shifting from comforting to razor-sharp.
Elena flinched.
"You bought a new designer coat last Tuesday," Maria noted calmly. "You told the laundry staff it was a knock-off from Canal Street. But the stitching was French silk. And your younger brother—the one who got into trouble with the loan sharks in Queens. His debt was cleared yesterday morning, wasn't it?"
Elena’s knees gave out. She collapsed onto the polished parquet floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I didn't want to! I didn't know it was poison!" Elena wailed, clutching Maria’s feet. "A woman met me at the subway station! She had photos of my brother! She said it was just a sleeping draught to make Mrs. Vance miss the gala! She said nobody would get hurt! Please, Maria, please! Don't let Mr. Vance kill me!"
Alexander stepped out of the shadows like a predator closing in for the kill, his jaw set in stone. "The woman at the subway. Was it Victoria Davenport?"
"No!" Elena screamed through her tears. "She was older... she had dark hair, a scar across her cheek, and she spoke with a Russian accent! She gave me the vial and told me to put three drops in the evening tin! She said if I didn't, my brother’s body would be fished out of the East River!"
Maria stood up slowly, her eyes wide as a forgotten memory struck her like a bullet.
"A scar across her cheek... Russian accent," Maria murmured, turning to Alexander. "Alexander... that's not Julian Sterling's crew. That's Madame Voronin."
Alexander’s expression morphed from fury into pure, unadulterated shock. "Katarina Voronin? The head of the Voronin Syndicate in Saint Petersburg? Why would the Russian mob be working with Julian?"
"Because," a voice spoke from the grand double doors of the ballroom, "Julian didn't hire the mob, Alexander. The mob hired Julian."
Carter stood at the entrance, his face grim, holding a classified satellite intelligence dossier. "Sir. We just cracked the encrypted server from the Met Gala snipers. The weapons weren't bought by Davenport. They were shipped through a diplomatic pouch belonging to the Russian Consulate. And there’s someone else you need to see."
Carter stepped aside.
Walking through the doors, escorted by two federal marshals, was a handcuffed Victoria Davenport. But she wasn't sneering anymore. Her face was bruised, her clothes were shredded, and she was shaking with pure, unvarnished panic.
May you like
"Alexander!" Victoria screamed, lunging toward him before the marshals dragged her back. "You have to help me! Julian betrayed my father! He killed him two hours ago in the safehouse! They’re coming for Maria! They were never after the company—they’re after *her*!"
***
