Chapter 5 - The Legal Ambush
The sunrise over Central Park was a pale, icy gold.
I sat at the polished conference table on the forty-fifth floor of Ward & Sterling, a cup of black coffee steaming beside my hand. Judith sat to my left, typing furiously on her tablet, coordinating press releases with our public relations crisis firm.
I was wearing a charcoal wool suit from Chanel, my shoulders squared, my posture impeccable. I had refused the wig this morning. Instead, I wore a tailored black silk wrap around my head, styled like an emerald turban, accented by a single diamond broach Frank had bought me in Vienna. I looked like an empress who had survived an assassination attempt—not a victim.
Marcus Ward entered the room, carrying a stack of blue-backed legal documents. He set them down with a heavy thud.
“The precinct processed her at 4:30 AM,” Marcus said, pulling out a chair across from me. “Grand larceny, second-degree burglary, and criminal facilitation. Maria rolled completely; she gave the DA the encrypted messages Natalie sent her detailing which safe to open, what brand of lorazepam to buy, and the exact window of time when Eleanor’s security system would be dark.”
“And Jackson?” I asked, keeping my voice entirely devoid of emotion.
Marcus sighed. “He’s sitting in an interrogation room at the 19th Precinct. He hasn't been charged with the burglary yet, but the DA is looking at the conservatorship filing. Jackson claims he thought the petition was a standard medical power-of-attorney requested by his mother’s doctor. He says Natalie told him you had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s and were hiding it from him.”
Judith snorted in disgust. “He’s a liar, Eleanor. He knew what he was signing. He just wanted the hundred and twenty million.”
“Perhaps,” I said quietly. “Or perhaps he is the exact fool I spent thirty years protecting from the world. A man who never had to struggle for a dollar will believe any lie that promises to keep his pockets full.”
I looked at Marcus. “What is Natalie’s defense?”
“She hired Richard Sterling,” Marcus said grimly. “He’s the most expensive shark in the city. And they’ve already filed a counter-motion.”
I raised an eyebrow. “On what grounds?”
“Defamation, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and unlawful public disclosure of private communications,” Marcus said, reading from the top document. “Sterling is claiming the audio played at the wedding was an illegal recording under New York wiretap laws. Furthermore, they are petitioning the court for an emergency injunction to freeze the Vance Foundation’s assets, claiming you altered the trust while under the influence of extreme emotional distress and cognitive decline.”
“They’re doubling down,” Judith said, her voice shaking with rage. “Even behind bars, that little viper is trying to take your life apart.”
“Of course she is,” I said, taking a slow sip of my coffee. The heat warmed my throat, sharpening my mind. “When a parasite attaches itself to a host, it doesn't let go just because you spray it with salt. It digs its teeth deeper until you tear it out by the root.”
I turned to Marcus. “Where is the stolen jewelry?”
“That’s the complication,” Marcus replied. “The police searched her suite and her car. Nothing. Maria says Natalie took the velvet boxes out of the apartment in a gym bag at 3:15 AM yesterday morning, three hours before she arrived at the hotel to get her makeup done. She didn't have the jewelry at the Westbrook. If we can't recover the physical property, her attorney will argue that Maria acted alone and framed Natalie to save herself.”
“She didn't use a locker,” I said, thinking through the mind of a woman like Natalie. “She’s too arrogant. She wouldn't leave four million dollars in diamonds in a train station or a gym. She needed someone who could liquidate them immediately. Someone who doesn't ask questions.”
“A fence?” Judith asked.
“Not just any fence,” I said, memories of Frank’s business dealings in the Diamond District flashing through my mind. “In Manhattan, there are only three people with the liquidity to move antique Cartier and an Ellis Island emerald within twenty-four hours without alerting the auction houses. And one of them owed Frank Vance his entire career.”
I pushed my coffee cup aside and stood up.
“Marcus, arrange a car. Judith, stay here with PR. If Richard Sterling leaks a single word about my mental health to the *Post*, I want full-page spreads of my clean medical evaluations from Mount Sinai published in the *Times* before noon.”
“Where are you going, Eleanor?” Marcus asked, rising with me.
May you like
“To go shopping,” I said, adjusting the diamond broach on my silk turban. “I believe it’s time I reminded 47th Street who Frank Vance’s widow really is.”
***
