Chapter 2 - The Desperate Dash
The tires of Michael Vance’s chauffeured Maybach squealed against the pavement as the car tore away from Lenox Hill Hospital.
In the delivery room upstairs, Marissa was screaming his name, surrounded by nurses who were frantically trying to stabilize her skyrocketing blood pressure. Michael didn’t care. The mistress who had consumed his attention for the past nine months had instantly evaporated from his priority list the moment Anna’s broadcast went live.
In the back seat of the Maybach, Michael was suffocating on his own panic. He stared at his phone, watching the stock ticker for Vance Capital. The market had been open for less than an hour, and the shares were already in a catastrophic freefall. The board of directors was blowing up his phone with demands for an emergency meeting. PR firms were sending frantic emails.
Anna hadn't just embarrassed him. She had triggered a corporate apocalypse.
"Drive faster, Victor!" Michael roared, slamming his fist against the leather partition.
"I'm going ninety, sir!" Victor shouted back, weaving through the morning traffic on the Van Wyck Expressway. "The police scanner says there's a paparazzi swarm already forming at Terminal 4!"
Michael’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Anna was supposed to be predictable. She was the quiet, graceful wife who managed his charities, smiled for the cameras, and never asked questions about his late nights. He had genuinely believed that when she found out about Marissa, she would weep, file a quiet, sealed divorce, and accept whatever lowball settlement his lawyers threw at her to avoid public humiliation.
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He had entirely underestimated the lethal, icy brilliance of Anna Sterling.
By the time the Maybach skidded to a halt outside Terminal 4 at JFK, it was 10:41 a.m.
