Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of the Sovereign
The Sinclair estate in Newport, Rhode Island, was a fortress of limestone and iron, sitting on a cliff overlooking the dark, wild Atlantic Ocean.
It was a place where I had spent my childhood, surrounded by gardens of white roses and the constant, reassuring roar of the waves. It was the only place in the world where the name Sinclair didn't feel like a weight, but a shield.
I lay on a plush, velvet chaise lounge in the private sunroom, my back covered in soothing, medical-grade gel dressings. The physical pain was starting to fade, replaced by a deep, hollow exhaustion.
Daniel, my father’s personal physician, stepped away from the bed, pulling his spectacles down. "The physical wounds will heal within a month, Emily. The gel we’re using will prevent any permanent scarring on your back. But the psychological trauma... a physical assault of that nature, by someone you trusted..."
"I'm fine, Daniel," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I don't feel traumatized. I feel... awake."
My father entered the room, carrying a tray with two cups of porcelain tea. He set it down on the table beside me, his face soft and warm as he sat in the armchair.
"You always were too strong for your own good, Emily," he said, blowing gently on his tea. "You inherited that from your mother. She always believed that the only way to find out who you truly are is to let the world try to break you first."
"She was right," I said, taking a sip of the warm chamomile. "For three years, I shrank myself to fit into Ryan’s small, insecure world. I thought that by being quiet, by being the perfect, supportive wife, I could make him love me for who I was. But he didn't want a wife. He wanted a trophy he could control."
"He is currently trying to file for bankruptcy protection," Arthur said, a cold, satisfied smile playing on his lips. "But our legal team, led by Katherine Vance, has already blocked his filings in the federal court. We have cited corporate malfeasance, personal asset hiding, and grand larceny."
"Larceny?" I looked up.
"It seems your husband was using Sterling Global’s corporate accounts to fund Madison’s father’s real estate projects," Arthur said. "Over fourteen million dollars was transferred from his company’s logistics escrow accounts into a shell company in Delaware. It’s a federal crime, Emily. He didn't just ruin his company; he committed bank fraud."
The door to the sunroom opened, and Gabriel Vance stepped in, his face solemn.
"Sir, Emily," Gabriel said. "We have a situation in New York. Ryan has hired a public relations firm, and they’ve just released a statement to the press. They are accusing the Sinclair Group of a hostile, illegal takeover and claiming that Emily was the one who initiated the physical altercation at the estate."
Gabriel turned on the television screen mounted on the wall.
A local news anchor was speaking over a photograph of Ryan, his face looking tired but professional, and a photo of me from a charity gala three years ago.
"Breaking news out of New York tonight as Ryan Sterling, the embattled CEO of Sterling Global Logistics, has accused the billionaire Sinclair family of a targeted, violent campaign to destroy his company. In a statement released by his attorneys, Mr. Sterling claims his wife, Emily Sinclair, became physically aggressive during a private discussion regarding their divorce, and that her father’s private security team subsequently assaulted him and kidnapped his wife..."
"He's trying to play the victim," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"He's desperate," Arthur said, his eyes cold. "He knows that if he doesn't win the public relations war, his creditors will tear him apart by Friday."
"We don't need a public relations war, Dad," I said, sitting up slowly, the gel dressings cool against my back. "We have the security footage from the Connecticut house. The internal cameras in the foyer were connected to my personal cloud account."
I reached for my phone, my fingers flying across the screen as I accessed the secure, hidden folder.
"I have the raw, unedited video of the first strike," I said, looking at Gabriel. "I have the audio of Ryan telling me he was tired of carrying dead weight while Madison laughed. And I have the footage of Madison telling me I should apologize so she’d let me stay in the guest house."
May you like
Gabriel smiled—a rare, terrifying sight that showed his gold tooth. "That is not just a defense, Emily. That is a death sentence."
"Release it," I said to Gabriel. "Not to the news. Release it to the board of Sterling Global, to his creditors, and to every single shipping partner he has left. Let them see the real Ryan Sterling."
