Chapter 9: Blood and Blackmail
"Stay in the car," Julian ordered Maya, his voice brokering no argument as he drew a sleek, black firearm from an ankle holster. Maya gasped; she hadn’t even known he carried a weapon.
"Julian, please be careful," she whispered, her hands trembling.
Julian signaled to his two massive bodyguards, and the three men moved silently out of the SUV and into the rain. Maya watched through the tinted glass, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every second felt like an hour. The flashing neon light from a nearby bodega cast eerie, distorted shadows across the wet pavement.
Upstairs, the door to Maya’s apartment hung off its hinges. The inside was completely trashed. Cushions were sliced open, drawers were dumped onto the floor, and the drywall had been smashed in several places. Arthur’s men were looking for something specific.
Julian stepped quietly over the threshold, his gun raised. The apartment was empty; the intruders had already fled. He quickly moved to the bedroom. Maya’s small, wooden jewelry box lay shattered on the floor, its contents scattered across the cheap rug.
Julian cursed under his breath, dropping to his knees. He sifted frantically through the fake pearls and cheap silver chains. Please, let them have missed it. Please.
His fingers brushed against cold metal beneath a piece of torn fabric. He pulled it out. A tiny, old brass key. They hadn’t known what they were looking for.
Julian let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, pocketing the key and sprinting back down to the SUV. When he slid into the backseat, he held the key up. Maya let out a sob of relief and threw her arms around him.
But their relief was brutally short-lived.
By sunrise, the city was awake, and so was Arthur’s counterattack. Maya’s phone began vibrating endlessly, flooded with notifications. Julian’s phone was ringing off the hook.
"Turn on the news," Julian ordered his driver.
A small screen lowered from the ceiling of the SUV. A prominent gossip anchor was standing in front of a giant digital graphic of Maya and Julian.
"The Sterling scandal takes a darker turn this morning," the anchor announced with gleeful solemnity. "An anonymous source within the Sterling family has leaked explosive documents alleging that the woman claiming to be the lost heiress, Arabella Sterling, is actually a highly sophisticated con artist. According to leaked medical files, the DNA test conducted last night was allegedly tampered with by Julian Sterling to secure control of the company."
Maya felt the blood drain from her face. "He’s framing us."
"The source claims," the anchor continued, "that Julian Sterling, fearing he would be ousted by the board for his reckless behavior, hired this woman to pose as his sister, using fabricated DNA evidence. The New York DA has announced a preliminary investigation into potential corporate fraud and identity theft."
"He leaked a fake story to the press," Julian snarled, slamming his fist against the leather seat. "He’s manipulating the public narrative to force the board to act before we can find proof against him. If the DA freezes our assets during an investigation, we won't be able to fight him."
Maya looked down at the brass key in Julian’s hand. "We have to find out what this opens. Today. Before Arthur destroys our reputations completely."
Just then, Eleanor’s private number lit up Julian’s phone. He answered it on speaker.
"Are you watching this?" Eleanor’s voice crackled, sounding surprisingly strong for a woman who had suffered a heart attack yesterday.
"We're seeing it, Eleanor," Julian said. "Arthur is playing dirty."
"Let him play," Eleanor said, a dangerous, aristocratic edge to her voice. "He thinks he can use the media against my family? He has forgotten who built this empire’s public image. I am discharging myself from the hospital."
May you like
"Eleanor, no, you need rest—" Maya started.
"I have rested for twenty-four years, Arabella," Eleanor interrupted, using Maya’s birth name with a fierce pride. "Tonight is the annual Sterling Charity Gala at the Plaza Hotel. Three hundred journalists will be there. Arthur will be there to play the concerned uncle. You two find what that key opens. I will handle the press. It’s time we set a trap for a rat."
