Chapter 159
Once they were around the corner, she pulled a spare black blazer from a garment bag kept in the car for emergencies. She shrugged off the soiled jacket, wrapped it in the bag, and worked a sanitizing wipe from her purse across the back of her neck and through her hair where the egg had splattered. Then she put on the clean blazer and smoothed the lapels. She would not walk into a police precinct smelling of rot.
On the trading floor, Gaston was watching the live news feed on his tablet. He saw the egg hit her. He saw her flinch.
His face went cold. Deadly cold.
“Push the stock to $10,” he commanded.
Vance’s eyes went wide. “Sir, that will bankrupt them. They will be liquidated.”
“Good,” Gaston replied. He turned away from the screen. “They touched her.”
The interrogation room at the NYPD precinct was a cold, metal box.
Zack sat in the chair bolted to the floor, sweaty and disheveled. The arrogance he had worn in the lobby was gone, replaced by the twitchy fear of a man who knows he has been caught.
Detective Miller set a laptop on the table.
“Nice performance, Zack,” Miller said dryly. “But we have the blooper reel.”
𝗬о𝘶𝘳 d𝖺𝘪𝘭𝗒 dо𝗌e 𝗼f ոо𝘃𝘦𝗹s 𝘰𝗇 𝗴𝖺𝗹ոо𝗏е𝗅𝘴.c𝘰𝘮
He turned the laptop around and pressed play. The GoPro footage rolled.
Zack watched himself hand the case to the woman with the distinctive posture. His face went pale.
“That’s… that’s not me,” he said, his voice barely holding.
“It’s you,” Miller replied. “And those are the stairs to the loading dock. And that envelope? I’m guessing it wasn’t fan mail.”
Miller leaned in. “This is Grand Larceny, Filing a False Report, and Insurance Fraud. That’s fifteen years, Zack. You’ll be playing the harmonica in Sing Sing.”
Zack started shaking. “I didn’t steal it! I just hid it!”
“Where is it?” Miller asked.
“Aspen has it! She took it!” Zack screamed, cracking instantly. “Her friend Sloane was the one in the uniform! Aspen said she would keep it safe until the insurance paid out, then give it back!”
Behind the one-way mirror, Jocelyn exhaled. Got her.
Miller paused. “Aspen Schneider? You’re accusing a socialite?”
“She paid me! Check my bank account — the offshore transfer! It’s all there!” Zack spilled everything. “She wanted to ruin the hotel. She hates Jocelyn!”
Miller exited the room and met Jocelyn in the hallway.
“We have enough for a warrant on Zack,” he said. “But for Aspen, we need the money trail. Her lawyers will bury us without hard proof.”
“My husband’s team found this.” Jocelyn handed over the thick financial dossier Vance had prepared. “Transfers from a shell company linked to Aspen to an account in the Cayman Islands — same day as the theft.”
Miller raised an eyebrow and flipped through the pages. “Your husband is thorough.”
“He’s protective,” Jocelyn corrected.
Across town, Aspen was at a spa on the Upper East Side, reclining in a massage chair with cucumbers over her eyes. She had no idea her world was burning.
Her phone rang. It was Zack’s number.
She picked up. “Did you stick to the script?” she asked casually.
“This is Detective Miller,” a deep voice said. “Ms. Schneider, we have a warrant for your arrest. We need you to come in.”
Aspen sat up so fast the cucumbers tumbled into her lap.
“What?” she screeched.
“Come in voluntarily, or we send a squad car to the spa,” Miller said.
.