Chapter 12 - Blood on the Iron Gate
The county sheriff’s cruiser arrived forty minutes later, tires spitting gravel as it screeched to a halt outside the gate.
Deputy Marshall Vance stepped out, his mirrored aviators reflecting the grey sky and the raging sea beyond.
"Mr. Sterling? Mrs. Sterling?" Vance asked, pulling off his sunglasses.
"It’s just Maya," she said, her voice taut as a wire. "What happened at Bedford Hills?"
Bedford Hills Correctional Facility was supposed to be maximum security.
Women like Victoria Sterling did not simply climb over razor wire in cashmere slippers.
"She didn’t scale the fence, ma'am," Deputy Vance said grimly, leaning against the warm hood of his cruiser.
"Then how?" Julian snapped, his fists balled at his sides. "She was scheduled for a competency hearing tomorrow morning!"
"At four-fifteen this morning, an administrative order was delivered by a federal courier," Vance explained.
He pulled a black leather notebook from his breast pocket and flipped it open with practiced calm.
"The paperwork bore the electronic signature of a United States District Judge," the deputy continued.
"She was transferred into the custody of two federal marshals for a closed-door deposition in Manhattan."
"And?" Julian pressed, his breath fogging in the crisp seaside air.
"The marshals were impostors," Vance said flatly.
A sickening chill washed over Maya’s chest, freezing the blood in her veins.
"The transport van was found three miles outside White Plains," Vance added, watching both of them closely.
"Both the driver and the guard were found handcuffed inside a ditch, stripped of their uniforms."
"Victoria didn't hire petty thugs," Julian muttered, pacing the gravel path like a caged predator.
"She doesn't have access to her personal funds anymore. We froze every institutional trust last Friday!"
Maya stood motionless, the folded Swiss bank certificate burning like hot coal against her hip.
*Seventy-five million dollars.*
Victoria didn't need the Sterling family accounts if another vault was waiting in the shadows.
"Did they find any trace of where she went?" Maya asked, keeping her tone carefully detached.
Deputy Vance shifted his weight, his eyes lingering on Maya’s face for a second too long.
"We found something left behind in the back of the transport van, ma'am."
"What was it?" Julian asked immediately.
Vance reached into his vehicle, retrieving an evidence bag made of clear, thick plastic.
Inside was a vintage gold fountain pen, encrusted with small emeralds along the silver clip.
Maya gasped silently, taking an involuntary half-step backward.
It was the exact pen she had used six months ago to sign her prenuptial agreement in Victoria's Fifth Avenue office.
"The pen was used to write a message on the back of the passenger seat in lipstick," Vance said.
He turned the evidence bag over, showing a police photograph of the van’s blood-red graffiti.
The handwriting was unmistakably Victoria’s jagged, sharp script.
*The girl was paid in advance. Ask Julian who wrote the check.*
Maya looked at Julian, her stomach lurching into a nauseating freefall.
Julian stared at the photograph, his eyes wide, his lips parting in utter shock.
"That's insane," Julian said, his voice rising in fierce indignation. "She’s playing mind games! She's trying to divide us!"
"Is she, Julian?" Maya whispered, unable to keep the tremble out of her voice.
Julian turned to her, hurt flashing across his chiseled face.
"Maya, you can’t possibly believe that psycho! You know what she did to you! She pushed you into the ocean!"
"Then why does this say Julian wrote the check?" Deputy Vance asked mildly, tapping his notepad.
"Because she wants to destroy whatever peace we have left!" Julian shouted, stepping toward the officer.
Vance raised a calm, leather-gloved hand, signaling Julian to stay where he was.
"I’m placing a protective detail around this perimeter until State Police locate the fugitive," Vance stated.
"I don't need a detail," Julian snapped coldly. "I can protect my family."
"It wasn't a request, Mr. Sterling," Vance replied, his voice dropping into hard authority.
The deputy climbed back into his squad car, leaving the engine rumbling as he picked up his radio microphone.
Julian turned back to Maya, reaching out to grasp her hands, but she stepped back out of reach.
"Maya, look at me," he pleaded, his brown eyes glistening with genuine agony. "You have to trust me."
"I want to," Maya said, her voice dropping to a fragile whisper.
"Then trust me. We survived the yacht. We survived the boardroom. We will survive this."
Maya nodded slowly, offering a faint, hollow smile to keep the terror hidden behind her eyes.
She turned and walked back toward the sanctuary of the cottage, her mind spinning out of control.
Inside the quiet entryway, she pulled the heavy Swiss deposit slip from her pocket.
Underneath the account name *Maya Lin*, there was another line she hadn't noticed before.
It was the name of the founding trustee who had established the fund six years ago.
*Julian Vance Sterling.*
Julian hadn't met her in a coffee shop by accident three years ago.
May you like
He had been funding her life from the shadows long before she ever knew his name.
***
