Chapter 17 - The Canvas of Lies
When you threaten a woman who has survived the dark, you do not inspire fear. You inspire a massacre.
By midnight, the celebration of Liam’s exhibition had ended, and the war had officially begun.
We were back in our home. Noah was asleep upstairs. Liam and I were sitting at the kitchen island. I had just finished explaining Arthur Sterling’s blackmail.
Liam didn't panic. He didn't shout. He slowly set his whiskey glass down on the marble counter, his jaw clenching so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek.
"He fabricated a paper trail tying my old studio to an international forgery ring," Liam repeated, his voice dangerously low. "He wants you to drop the lawsuit against his pharmaceutical company to keep me out of prison."
"He wants to break us," I corrected, booting up my encrypted laptop. "He knows he can't buy me, so he is trying to use you as a hostage. He expects me to panic."
"Vivian," Liam reached across the island, covering my hands with his warm, paint-stained fingers. "Drop the lawsuit. We can't fight a billionaire who owns the media and the evidence. I won't let you risk the Sanctuary Foundation for me."
I stopped typing. I looked up at the man who had stood by me when I had absolutely nothing. The man who had helped me raise my son and taught me how to live in the light.
I pulled my hands free, stood up from the stool, and walked around the island. I framed Liam’s face with my hands, forcing him to look directly into my eyes.
"Listen to me very carefully," I said, my voice fierce and unyielding. "I spent my entire youth shrinking myself to appease arrogant men. I am done. Arthur Sterling thinks he can use my husband as leverage? He just signed his own death warrant."
"Vivian, if the FBI raids my studio—"
"They won't find anything," I interrupted, my eyes blazing with matriarchal fire. "Because Arthur made a fatal miscalculation. He thinks I am just a philanthropist. He forgot that I am the most dangerous forensic accountant in this city."
I walked back to my laptop, the adrenaline flooding my veins.
"Arthur bought every painting in your gallery tonight," I said, pulling up the digital transaction logs from the museum's public filings. "He spent ten million dollars in a single evening. Men like Arthur don't use clean money for vanity purchases. They use shadow accounts."
"You want to audit Arthur Sterling?" Liam asked, a slow, awe-struck smile breaking through his tension.
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"I don't want to audit him," I said, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "I want to ruin him. By Monday morning, Arthur is going to beg me to take his company."
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