Chapter 7 - The Vanguard UltimatumJonathan didn't wait for them to knock a second time. He opened the heavy mahogany door, blocking the threshold with his imposing frame.
Standing on the porch was a man in his late fifties. He possessed a sharp, aristocratic jawline, silver hair, and eyes that resembled chips of blue ice. He wore a bespoke navy overcoat and radiated an aura of terrifying, absolute power. The two massive men flanking him stood perfectly still, their hands resting casually near their lapels.
"Mr. Hayes," the silver-haired man said smoothly, his British accent dripping with condescension. "How convenient to find you here. I was hoping to speak with the widow of David Vance’s career."
"My client has nothing to say to you, Marcus," Jonathan replied, his voice a low, warning rumble. "And she is not taking visitors. I suggest you get back in your car before I have the local precinct haul you in for trespassing."
Marcus chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. He looked past Jonathan, his icy gaze pinning me to the floorboards. "Megan, is it? You are much more formidable than David described. He painted you as a weeping, fragile housewife. Yet here you stand, the architect of his total destruction."
"What do you want?" I demanded, stepping out from behind Jonathan. I refused to cower in my own home.
"I want what belongs to me," Marcus stated, his polite facade dropping instantly. "Your husband was a very useful idiot, Megan. But he got sloppy. When the FBI raided his firm, they froze my capital. I write that off as the cost of doing business with a fool. However, forty-eight hours before his arrest, David transferred ten million dollars of my money into an untraceable crypto-wallet. He used a biometric encryption key. A key tied to this house."
"I don't have your money," I said coldly. "The FBI took everything."
"The FBI didn't find the ghost account," Marcus stepped closer to the door, his eyes darkening with lethal intent. "David hid it. And since he is currently sitting in solitary confinement, whining like a beaten dog, he cannot access it. But you can. I am giving you exactly forty-eight hours, Megan. Find the ten million. Transfer it to the offshore routing numbers my associates will provide. If you fail, I will not send lawyers. I will send a cleanup crew. And they will burn this beautiful house to the ground with you inside it."
Marcus didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel and walked back to his armored SUV, his enforcers trailing silently behind him.
I stood in the foyer, my hands trembling uncontrollably. The sheer magnitude of the threat crashed over me. I had burned David to the ground to protect Lily’s memory, only to discover he had tied her legacy to a syndicate of international murderers.
"Megan, look at me," Jonathan commanded, grabbing my shoulders gently to ground me. "I am moving you to a secure hotel right now. I have private security contractors on speed dial. You are not staying here."
"No," I whispered, the trembling slowly turning into a rigid, burning anger. The tears I had shed for my daughter evaporated, replaced by the white-hot fire of a mother’s rage.
"Megan, these men are not white-collar criminals. They will kill you."
"They think David hid the money using a key in this house," I said, my mind racing, connecting the fragments of the last year. "Jonathan, David didn't know how to code. He barely knew how to use the firm’s intranet. He couldn't have set up a biometric crypto-wallet on his own."
"Then who did?" Jonathan asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
I looked up at my attorney, a dark, dangerous realization settling over me. "Julianne. She was the one managing the offshore shell companies. She was the one who set up the fake charities. She engineered the ghost account."
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"Julianne is in federal lockup," Jonathan reminded me. "She’s facing twenty years."
"Then she’s desperate," I said, grabbing my coat from the banister. "Get your car, Jonathan. We are going to the Metropolitan Detention Center. I need to have a little chat with my husband’s mistress."
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