Chapter 6 - BLOOD MONEY
By Wednesday afternoon, the public narrative had shifted from tabloid spectacle to an unfolding corporate conspiracy. Detective Reyes showed up at Julian’s office without his badge pinned to his jacket—a sure sign that he was working on official business under strict protocol.
"Sterling took a private flight to Miami this morning," Reyes said, tossing his notepad onto the coffee table. "We don't have enough direct evidence tying his personal IP address to the crypto wallet yet to secure a federal warrant for his arrest. His lawyers filed an emergency motion to block access to Red Oak’s internal communications."
"He knows we’re coming for him," I said.
"Worse," Reyes replied, looking directly at me. "Lydia’s public defender quit this morning. A white-shoe defense team from Manhattan just filed an appearance on her behalf. Retainer fee: half a million dollars, paid by a blind corporate trust."
"Sterling is paying for Lydia’s defense to keep her mouth shut," Naomi said in disgust. "He’s buying her silence."
"He thinks he is," Julian countered with a calculating smile. "He forgets that Lydia Voss is loyal to only two things: money and survival. Right now, she’s sitting in a county cell facing twenty-five years in state prison. If she believes Sterling is abandoning her to take the fall alone, she will turn state's witness in three seconds flat."
"How do we break her?" I asked.
Julian turned to me. "You go see her."
The visitation booth at the county jail was divided by two inches of scratch-resistant plexiglass. Lydia sat on the metal stool on the opposite side, her hands handcuffed to the table. She looked twenty years older than she had three days ago. Her hair was greased against her skull, and her expensive acrylic nails had been clipped off.
When she saw me sit down, she grabbed the heavy black telephone receiver with trembling hands. I lifted mine to my ear.
"You came to gloat," Lydia hissed, her breath fogging the glass. "You think you've won, don't you? Look at you, parading your little scratch like a war medal."
"The trichloroacetic acid Cassidy threw at me required thirty-six stitches and three skin grafts, Lydia," I said calmly, staring straight into her bloodshot eyes. "The doctors say I will carry a permanent scar for the rest of my life."
"You deserved worse!" she spat. "You always thought you were better than us. Your father never loved me the way he loved your mother, and he made sure that damn trust proved it. Everything went to you!"
"And what did Sterling promise you?"
The color drained from Lydia’s face instantly. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Did you really think we wouldn't trace the crypto wallet?" I continued, leaning closer to the glass. "Red Oak Holdings funded the purchase of the acid. Sterling paid Cassidy to maim me so you could claim conservatorship. But here’s what your high-priced Manhattan lawyer hasn't told you: Sterling has already booked a chartered yacht from Miami to the Bahamas. As soon as the grand jury convenes on Friday, his lawyers will claim you and Cassidy acted entirely on your own—that you were extortionists who framed his company."
"That's a lie!" Lydia gasped, her chest heaving. "Richard promised he’d take care of us! He said the trust would be liquidated into offshore bonds!"
"He’s using you as a human shield, Lydia," I said, my voice ice-cold. "Cassidy is looking at thirty years. You’re looking at twenty-five. You will die behind bars while Richard Sterling builds high-rises on Grandfather’s forest. Unless you sign the cooperation agreement Julian Vance is holding outside this room right now."
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Lydia stared at me, her hands shaking so violently the heavy receiver clattered against the stainless steel counter. The illusion of her grand wealth, her pride, her hatred—everything crumbled into ash before my eyes.
***