Chapter 18: Shadows in the Rearview Mirror
Chapter 18: Shadows in the Rearview Mirror
Even as the seasons changed and the memory of the trial faded into the background of Manhattan's fast-paced society, some echoes refused to vanish completely.
Marcus was in his downtown corporate office late one evening when Elias Vance, now serving as the general counsel for both Thorne Holdings and the Thorne Foundation, walked in without knocking, carrying a thick manila folder.
"Marcus," Elias said, dropping the folder onto the mahogany desk. "You're going to want to see this."
Marcus didn't look up from his tablet immediately. "If this is another buyout proposal for the Hudson Yards property, tell them the price doubled."
"It's not about real estate," Elias replied grimly. "It's about the Rossi family."
Marcus slowly set the tablet down, his slate-gray eyes locking onto his cousin. "Victor filed for bankruptcy discharge months ago. He’s a non-entity."
"Not Victor. Isabella," Elias corrected, pulling a single sheet of paper from the folder. "She’s been trying to file an appeal from federal prison. Her new public defender is arguing that the high-definition security footage used in her arraignment was 'improperly obtained' because the hospital administrator—her uncle—didn't secure a separate warrant before pulling the internal system logs."
Marcus let out a short, cold laugh. The sheer persistence of the Rossi delusion was almost impressive. "An internal security audit on private property doesn't require a warrant, Elias. You know that. The prosecution knows that."
"I know it, and the district attorney knows it," Elias agreed, leaning against the desk. "The appeal is garbage. It’s going to be thrown out before it even reaches a judge. But I wanted you to know before it hit any legal blogs, just in case."
May you like
Marcus stood up, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window to look out at the sparkling lights of the city. He thought of Khloe in the Hamptons, laughing with Leo on the rug. He thought of the foundation, of the hundreds of women they had helped protect from the exact kind of calculated malice Isabella represented.
"Let her try," Marcus said softly, his voice devoid of anger, carrying only absolute finality. "Let her waste her time writing motions in a concrete cell. She built her own cage, Elias. No amount of paper is ever going to set her free."
