Chapter 2 - The Scent of Betrayal
Detective Vance stepped into the dining room, the soles of his polished shoes striking the herringbone floor with steady, deliberate clicks. He paused just beyond the arc of light cast by the chandelier, nodding curtly at Julian before his gaze drifted coldly toward Victoria.
"Mr. Sterling," Vance said smoothly, ignoring the rigid tension that hung in the air like fine glass waiting to shatter. "You asked for the preliminary bank statements regarding the offshore wire transfers. We traced the digital signatures fifteen minutes ago."
Victoria set her crystal glass down on the table with enough force that water sloshed over the rim, dampening the silk runner. "Detective, this is entirely inappropriate. We are in the middle of a family dinner dealing with an internal domestic matter. My husband did not authorize you to interrupt us."
"Actually, I did," Julian said. He didn't raise his voice, but the chill in his tone made the hairs on Maria's neck rise. He turned his head slowly toward Vance. "Go ahead, Detective."
Vance opened the black leather folder, pulling out three crisp sheets of printed bank records. "Over the past six months, four hundred and fifty thousand dollars were funneled out of your private development account. The transactions were initiated using the computer in the study, logged in under Maria’s staff credentials."
Maria let out a small, terrified gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. "Mr. Sterling, I swear to God, I don't even know your password! I only go into that room to dust the shelves and empty the wastebasket!"
"We know that now, Maria," Vance continued, his eyes remaining fixed on Victoria. "Because every single transfer coincided with days when Maria was confirmed to be at the local medical clinic attending to her mother's dialysis. Her keycard wasn't used to enter the study. The override code was entered from a secondary master key."
Julian’s knuckles turned white where they rested on the mahogany. Only one other person held a master key to the private wing of the manor.
"Victoria," Julian whispered, the word sharp as a razor. "Explain this."
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Victoria smoothed the front of her cream silk blouse, forcing a cold, dismissive laugh. "You're listening to a third-rate investigator, Julian. Anyone could have forged my codes. If you want to know who really set up those accounts, you should ask the man standing by the garden terrace right now."
Through the tall French doors behind them, the silhouette of a tall man stood motionlessly in the gathering darkness, watching the dining room with unmistakable intent.
