The Blood-Stained Cheque

Chapter 4 The Failed Control

(Julian's POV)

In my penthouse office, I peeled off the grimy jacket and dropped it on the floor. My real suit waited underneath, smooth and untouched by the night in the basement. Beyond the windows, the city spread out below the sixty-eighth floor.

Serena was throwing a tantrum. A predictable fit over learning that I had tested her. She would get tired of it.

Beside the holographic stock ticker on my marble desk sat a chipped ceramic mug. It looked ridiculous against all that marble. Serena had bought it for me two winters ago because she said a metal travel mug made coffee taste cold. She disliked the mug too, yet it was always clean when I came home.

She would probably be back by morning, if only to nag me about skipping dinner.

She always came back.

For three years, every choice she made had led back to me. She left art school for me, worked for me, and measured every expense against what I said I needed. Walking out was an outburst or a negotiation. Money would settle either one.

I pressed the intercom. “Arthur, wire five million dollars to Serena's account. Send the keys to the Fifth Avenue penthouse to her sister's place. That's where she'll be.”

I leaned back and waited for her call. I pictured the bank alert appearing on her phone, followed by the relief she would be too proud to admit. The game was over. She had won, and five million was a generous reward.

The city lights came on while I worked through the quarterly reports. I read the same page three times and checked my phone after every line. Serena did not call.

The intercom crackled. “Sir?” Arthur cleared his throat. “There's a problem.”

“What is it?”

“The five million was returned. She rejected the transfer less than ten minutes after we sent it.”

I sat up straight and pulled the phone closer. “What about the keys?”

“The courier reached her sister's door, but she refused the package. She said, and I quote, ‘Serena has no address here, or anywhere else you can find.’”

I put the quarterly report down. “Her phone.”

“Disconnected. Her social media accounts have been deactivated too. We can't find a current address.”

She had disconnected the number, closed her accounts, and warned her sister before handing me the divorce agreement. I opened her contact on my phone and called anyway. The recorded message told me the number was out of service.

Mia walked in without knocking. “Jules! I've booked us a table at Per Se to celebrate. Wasn't it perfect? You should have seen her face outside.”

“Get out.”

Her smile faltered. “What? I only wanted to celebrate.”

“I said get out!” I slammed my fist down. The ceramic mug jumped and rattled across the marble.

Mia backed toward the door, then turned and left.

I caught the mug before it reached the edge. My hand shook against the chipped handle. The office had gone quiet enough for me to hear the stock ticker changing behind me.

Serena's wrinkled cheque lay beside my keyboard. I picked it up and scraped a fingernail over the dark stain in the corner.

Blood.

The stain flaked under my nail. I remembered her hand trembling on the table and the way she had gripped the edge to stay upright. I had seen her pale face and blamed the basement, the jobs, anything that kept me innocent.

I snatched my phone and dialed the number of the best private investigator money could buy.

“Find Serena Croft. I don't care what it costs. Find out where this cheque came from too. I'm sending you a picture.”

I sent the image and told myself she could not have gone far. People left trails through cards, phones, and cameras. Once the investigator found hers, I would bring her home and fix whatever I had missed.

An hour later, my phone buzzed with an encrypted message from the investigator.

“Boss, I found the source of the cheque. You'd better brace yourself.”