Chapter 8 - THE RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK
Back at the penthouse,
I spread the documents across the sprawling mahogany dining table while Mrs. Higgins kept watch by the nursery upstairs.
Martin Bell arrived within twenty minutes,
his normally unflappable demeanor replaced by razor-sharp focus as he scanned the wire transfer receipts and birth certificates Vanessa had provided.
“This changes everything,”
Martin said,
taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“If these bank routing numbers are legitimate,
Grant hasn't just hidden marital assets—
he’s operating under an assumed identity tied to interstate financial fraud.”
“Can Judge Sterling freeze his international accounts based on this?”
I asked,
standing by the window with my phone in hand.
“Not just freeze them,”
Martin said,
his pen tapping rhythmically against the table.
“This gives us grounds for an emergency federal injunction and an immediate bench warrant for passport seizure before he boards his private jet on Sunday night.”
“Sunday night?”
I turned sharply.
“His flight plan to Zurich was filed under a corporate shell company ten minutes ago,”
Martin confirmed,
checking his tablet.
“He’s not waiting for Monday’s court hearing,
Claire.
He knows we’re closing in.”
Suddenly,
the penthouse security system beeped twice—
not the standard chime for visitors,
but the internal alert indicating the private elevator had been activated using a master administrative override.
Martin’s head snapped toward the foyer.
“Who has master override codes besides Grant?”
“Nobody,”
I said,
my blood turning to ice.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the marble-tiled hallway outside the dining room.
The double doors swung open,
and Grant stood there flanked by two private security contractors in dark suits.
His eyes scanned the table covered in documents,
landed on Martin Bell,
and finally locked onto me with a cold,
deadly calm.
“I see,”
Grant said quietly,
May you like
stepping into the room.
“You brought the garbage collector in before the trash was even out.”
