Chapter 6

That night, I dialed Matthew's number. Matthew Harris, the head of security for the Sterling family, a former Marine who had worked for my grandfather for twenty years and now worked for me.

"Matthew, I need you to run a check on someone. Isabella Vance, currently working at the Thorne Group. I want to know everything."

"Do you need legal channels or..." Matthew's voice was as steady as ever.

"Legal, but thorough. Especially any connection she has to Sterling Manor."

Three days later, the report arrived in my encrypted inbox.

Isabella Vance, twenty-four years old, graduated from an ordinary state university with average grades. Father: Larry Vance, currently serving a seven-year sentence in federal prison for securities fraud. Mother: Marianne Vance, formerly known as Marianne Brown.

Reading this, a memory was triggered. Marianne Brown—yes, I remembered. She had been a maid at our Long Island estate for about two years. I remembered her because she had attempted to steal a pair of my mother's diamond earrings and was caught red-handed by the butler. Grandfather didn't press charges; he simply fired her and banned her from ever setting foot on any Sterling property again.

After Marianne was fired, she took her daughter and moved to Queens. Bella had applied for multiple student loans during college and was currently still in debt. The luxury goods on her social media had been authenticated as mostly high-grade knockoffs ("superfakes"), with the few genuine items showing clear records of credit card installment payments.

The most interesting part concerned the photos. When Bella's mother worked at Sterling Manor, she had indeed taken some photos—strictly prohibited, but she had done it secretly anyway. These photos had become the stock footage for Bella's web of lies. As for the photo with "Storm," the timestamp showed it was taken last September. On that day, the estate was open to a local charity organization for a tour. Bella had blended in with the tourists, slipped away to the stables, and taken that forced-perspective shot.

The report concluded with a piece of recent intelligence: Bella had used a credit card last week to reserve two expensive evening gowns, rented for three days starting this Friday. And this Friday was the day of the Thorne Group's Annual Charity Gala.

I closed my laptop and walked to the window. The night view of the West Village unfolded before me, with the lights of the Thorne Group headquarters standing out starkly against the night sky.

The game is coming to an end, Miss Bella. And you are going to lose everything.