Chapter 13 - The Connecticut Asylum
The private retreat in Litchfield County was nestled behind eight-foot wrought-iron fencing, disguised as an exclusive holistic recovery estate.
To the world, it was where disgraced heiresses and fallen financiers went to nurse their shattered reputations in peace.
To me, it was a gilded cage where Arthur Castlereagh was debriefing Evelyn Vance before disposing of her for good.
Through our forensic accountants, we traced the private ambulance company that transported Evelyn back to a logistics company registered in the Cayman Islands.
I didn't send private detectives; I went myself, accompanied by Raymond and two of our most trusted litigation investigators.
I wore an unassuming dark wool coat, carrying the original Swiss ledger wrapped in waterproof canvas.
The rain fell in steady, gray sheets, turning the gravel driveways into slicks of mud as our SUV pulled through the gated security checkpoint.
My father's name still opened doors that remained bolted to regular citizens, and the estate’s administrator paled when he saw Marcus Sterling’s signature on a court subpoena for Evelyn’s medical logs.
"She is resting in the north wing, Mrs... I mean, Miss Sterling," the administrator stammered, leading us through polished, antiseptic corridors.
The air smelled of lavender and industrial floor wax, a bizarre juxtaposition that turned my stomach.
We entered suite 104, where Evelyn sat by a bay window, wrapped in a cashmere shawl that couldn't hide how gaunt and frail she had become.
The prison uniform was gone, but her face was hollowed out by fear, her manicured fingers trembling around a porcelain teacup.
When she saw me walk through the door, the cup rattled violently against the saucer before falling to the thick carpet, splashing lukewarm tea across her slippers.
"You... you shouldn't be here," Evelyn rasped, her voice cracked and thin, stripped of the aristocratic venom she once weaponized against me.
"Did you really think Castlereagh brought you here to save you, Evelyn?" I asked, pulling a chair opposite her and sitting down deliberately.
She pulled her shawl tighter, her eyes darting toward the security cameras in the corners of the ceiling.
"Arthur promised me Julian would be transferred to a minimum-security facility in exchange for what we held," she whispered, her lips pale.
"Julian isn't being transferred anywhere," I said, leaning forward so she could see the clarity and sharpness in my eyes—the very eyes she tried to destroy.
"Julian is facing five additional federal indictments for offshore tax evasion and international conspiracy based on the files we pulled from your secret vault."
Evelyn gasped, clutching her chest as if she were truly suffering a coronary event.
"The vault... you found the Castlereagh ledger?"
"I found everything, Evelyn," I replied coldly.
"I found the contracts that turned my marriage into a syndicate bounty."
May you like
"And Arthur Castlereagh knows we have it, which means you are no longer an asset to him; you are the only witness who can link him to the plot."
As if on cue, the lights in the suite flickered once, twice, before plunging the room into darkness as the facility's auxiliary alarms began to howl.
