“Because,” Audrey smiled, a sharp, dangerous smile, “he’s my stepmother’s husband.”
Reno, Nevada, was a city of neon lights and broken dreams, which made it the perfect habitat for Julian Vain. Using the jet charter service her father had kept on retainer, paid for via a shell company the bunker files gave her access to, Audrey and Bernie touched down on Tuesday night. By Wednesday morning they were sitting in a dingy diner called the Lucky Chip, located three miles off the main strip. Audrey wore sunglasses and a hoodie. She watched the door.
“You sure he’s coming?” Bernie asked, attacking a plate of greasy eggs.
“The P.I. said he eats breakfast here every day at ten a.m. He’s a creature of habit.”
At 10:05, the door opened. Julian Vain walked in. He looked older than his mug shot, his hair thinning and dyed a terrible shade of black. He wore a cheap polyester suit and carried a racing form under his arm. He looked like a man who was always waiting for a ship that had already sunk. He sat at the counter.
“Coffee. Black. And a donut.”
Audrey signaled Bernie. They stood up and flanked Julian, one on each side.
“Mr. Vain?” Audrey asked.
Julian jumped, spilling coffee on his sleeve. He looked at Bernie’s size and immediately panicked.
“Look, I don’t have the money yet. I told Tony I need until Friday.”
“We’re not with Tony,” Audrey said, sliding onto the stool next to him.
She placed a heavy envelope on the counter.
“We’re here to offer you a job.”
Julian eyed the envelope. He lifted the corner. He saw the stack of hundred-dollar bills. His demeanor changed instantly. He smoothed his hair.
“I’m listening. Who are you?”
“I’m Audrey Miller. Thomas Miller’s daughter.”
Julian’s face went slack.
“Miller? Oh. Oh, no. I don’t want any part of that. That woman is crazy. She told me if I ever came out of the woodwork, she’d have me killed.”
“Patricia?” Audrey asked.
“She’s a viper,” Julian hissed, looking around nervously. “She paid me fifty grand to disappear six years ago. Said she found a bigger fish. Your dad.”
“Did you ever sign divorce papers, Julian?” Bernie asked, pulling a notepad from his pocket.
Julian laughed. A dry, hacking sound.
“Divorce? That costs money. Lawyers, filings. Nah, we just went our separate ways. She said she’d handle the paperwork in Mexico. I figured she forged it. She forges everything.”
Audrey felt a rush of triumph so strong it almost made her dizzy.
“So you are legally still married to Patricia Vain?” Audrey clarified.
“Technically, yeah. Probably. Why? You’re going to arrest me for bigamy?”
“No,” Audrey said. “I’m going to give you fifty thousand dollars right now. And another two hundred thousand if you walk into a courtroom in Seattle with me on Friday and tell the judge exactly what you just told me.”
Julian stared at the money. Then he looked at Audrey. He saw the fire in her eyes.
“She’s in trouble, isn’t she?” Julian asked, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Patricia is finally getting pinched.”
“She’s going to lose everything,” Audrey said. “And I want you to be the one to twist the knife.”
Julian picked up the envelope. He weighed it in his hand.
“For two hundred grand, I’ll tell the judge I’m carrying her baby,” Julian said. “When do we leave?”
Two days later, the probate hearing. The courtroom in Seattle was packed. The death of Thomas Miller and the subsequent rumors of a family feud had attracted the press. Patricia sat at the plaintiff’s table, flanked by three high-priced lawyers, paid for on credit. Audrey knew she looked impeccable in a Chanel suit, projecting the image of the grieving, dignified widow. Chad sat behind her, looking nervous. He kept checking his phone. Audrey sat at the defense table with Bernie. She wore a simple navy suit. She looked calm. Too calm.
Judge Halloway, the same judge who had signed the demolition order, banged his gavel.
“We are here to finalize the probate of the estate of Thomas Miller,” the judge droned. “I understand there is a dispute regarding the assets.”
Patricia’s lead lawyer stood up.
“Your Honor, the will is clear. The entirety of the estate goes to Mrs. Patricia Miller. The daughter Audrey received her specific bequest. We are simply asking for the release of the frozen accounts so my client can maintain the properties.”
“Objection,” Bernie said, standing up.
He didn’t look like a clown today. He looked predatory.
“On what grounds?” the judge asked, annoyed.
