Chapter 296: Call The Fucking Bank

\[Wilson\]

I slumped into the chair after Sarah left, my designer dress soaked through with cold sweat. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The restaurant around me continued its normal lunchtime bustle, waiters gliding between tables, patrons laughing and chatting—all oblivious to the fact that my entire world had just imploded.

She had the surgery recording. The actual video evidence. All this time, I'd convinced myself that at worst there would be witness testimonies—easily discredited. But hard evidence? My throat constricted so tightly I could barely swallow.

If Theodore saw that video... My mind refused to fully imagine the consequences.

I touched my fingers to my throat reflexively, feeling the pulse racing beneath my skin. Three days. She'd given me three days to transfer funds I didn't have.

With trembling hands, I signaled for the check. The waiter approached, and I barely registered handing over my credit card. My mind was already racing, calculating options that seemed to evaporate as quickly as I could form them.

Twenty minutes later, I burst into my stepmother's office at the top floor of the Golden Tower. She looked up from her computer, perfectly sculpted eyebrows rising slightly at my disheveled appearance.

"Wilson, what's happened to you?" Her voice held that familiar mixture of curiosity and disdain. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Worse than a ghost," I managed, collapsing into the chair across from her desk. "Sarah Sullivan is back in America."

My stepmother's fingers froze over her keyboard. "Back? Already?" A flash of something—alarm, perhaps—crossed her features before her mask of composure returned. "That's... unexpected. I thought her injuries were more severe."

"She looked perfectly fine to me," I spat, bitterness rising in my throat like bile. "And she wants all the money back. The money Theodore gave me." My voice cracked on his name, shame and fear coiling together in my stomach.

"What money?" My stepmother's voice turned razor-sharp, her eyes narrowing to slits.

I leaned forward, dropping my voice despite us being alone in her office. "The money for Lily's surgery. The money I took credit for." The words felt like poison on my tongue. "Sarah knows everything. She has the surgical recording—the actual video showing she was the one who performed the procedure."

"Impossible," my stepmother whispered, but the color draining from her face told me she understood the gravity of the situation. "Those recordings are supposed to be confidential. How did she get it?"

"Does it matter?" I hissed, my patience snapping like a dry twig. "The point is she has it, and if I don't transfer the money back to her in three days, she's going to show it to Theodore."

My stepmother's perfectly manicured nails tapped a nervous rhythm against her mahogany desk. "Well, we'll have to transfer the money then." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if we were discussing a minor accounting error rather than potential ruination.

"I don't have that kind of money just sitting around!" I nearly shouted, then caught myself, lowering my voice again. "You know where those funds went—straight into our projects. You're the one who insisted on immediate reinvestment."

"Don't raise your voice at me," she warned, her eyes turning glacial. "This is your mess, Wilson. You assured me there would be no evidence linking Sarah to the surgery."

"Don't act like you weren't part of this," I retorted, anger giving me courage I rarely displayed with her. "You encouraged me every step of the way. You practically celebrated when Theodore gave me that money."

She sighed dramatically, picking up her phone. "Fine. Let me call our financial director and see what we can pull together on short notice."

I watched her dial and exchange pleasantries, her voice honey-sweet and completely at odds with the venom in her eyes. My skin crawled listening to her—the same false warmth she'd used on me.

"Yes, I understand. That's unfortunate, but we'll manage." She hung up, turning to me with an artificially sympathetic expression. "I'm afraid most of our liquid assets are tied up in the new development project."

My blood turned to ice in my veins. Every muscle tensed.

"That's. Not. GOOD ENOUGH!" My voice started as a whisper and ended in a shriek that made her secretary outside flinch. My fists slammed onto her desk, scattering expensive pens across the polished surface. "Sarah wants ALL of it within three days, or I'm FINISHED!"

My stepmother's eyes narrowed dangerously, her mouth twisting into that familiar condescending smile. "Well then, that's your catastrophe to manage, isn't it?" She examined her perfect manicure with exaggerated interest. "Perhaps Theodore might advance you another generous sum?" Her voice dripped with poisonous sweetness as she looked up through her lashes.

Something inside me shattered—a lifetime of suppressed rage erupting like magma from a dormant volcano. My vision actually blurred at the edges, turning crimson as a primal scream built in my chest.

Before conscious thought could intervene, my trembling fingers had plunged into my purse and closed around the small knife I carried. I vaulted across her desk with an animal growl, knocking over her crystal paperweight and sending her laptop crashing to the floor. The blade pressed against her throat before she could even scream, my free hand tangled in her perfect hair, yanking her head back to expose her vulnerable neck.

"DO I LOOK LIKE I'M PLAYING GAMES?" I screamed, spittle flying from my lips, the knife shaking against her skin as tears of rage blurred my vision. "GET ME THAT MONEY RIGHT NOW, OR I SWEAR TO GOD WE'RE BOTH DYING TODAY!" My chest heaved with ragged breaths, pulse pounding in my ears like war drums. "I HAVE NOTHING LEFT! NOTHING!"

"Wilson!" Terror replaced her usual mask of control, her eyes wide as saucers, mascara already beginning to run as tears formed. "For God's sake—you've lost your mind! Stop this madness right now!"

I pressed the blade harder against her throat, feeling a savage thrill as she whimpered in genuine fear—perhaps the first honest emotion I'd ever witnessed from her. "CALL. THE. FUCKING. BANK!" Each word was punctuated by a slight twist of the knife. "NOW!"

Her entire body trembled as she fumbled for the phone, fingers missing the buttons twice before managing to dial. Her perfectly maintained composure shattered completely as a tear tracked down her cheek, carrying a river of expensive makeup with it. "This is absolute insanity," she whispered, voice breaking. "You need help, Wilson."

"What I NEED is that MONEY!" I snarled, pressing my face close enough to hers that I could smell her fear beneath the Chanel perfume. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out rational thought. "Speaker phone! I want to hear EVERY. SINGLE. WORD."

With a shaking hand, she activated the speaker and made the call. I listened with savage satisfaction as she authorized transfers from secret accounts I never knew existed—offshore holdings, emergency reserves, slush funds she'd always denied having.

When she finally hung up, I noticed with detached fascination that the knife had broken skin—a thin line of crimson appeared on her throat, a single drop of blood rolling down to stain her white silk blouse. The sight didn't disturb me as it should have. Instead, I felt a twisted satisfaction watching her perfect facade literally bleeding away.

"There!" Her voice shook uncontrollably, hand rising to dab at the small wound. "It's done! Are you satisfied now, you ungrateful little—" I jerked the knife slightly, cutting off her insult.

An hour later, sitting in my car with the transfer confirmation in hand, I felt no triumph. Just emptiness. And a dawning realization that I needed allies. Someone who understood what it meant to be in Theodore Pierce's orbit.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't used in months.

"Wilson." Victoria Cross's voice was honey-sweet through the speaker, her tone suggesting she'd been expecting my call. "What a pleasant surprise. I thought you'd forgotten all about me."

"Victoria," I greeted her, my voice tight with restrained anger. "Stop with the fake pleasantries. I can hear you smiling through the phone."

"Can you blame me for enjoying the show?" She laughed lightly, the sound like glass breaking in my ear.

"You knew this would happen," I accused, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. "You knew about Sarah all along."

"Let's just say I understand Theodore better than most." I could picture her examining her perfect manicure as she spoke. "He was never yours, Wilson. And he won't be Sarah's either, in the end."

"What makes you so confident?" I asked, genuinely curious despite my anger.

"Because I'm the only one who can give him what he truly desires—freedom without guilt. Sarah chains him with children and expectations. You tried to chain him with lies and manipulation." Her voice dropped to a confessional whisper. "I make no demands. I have no expectations. I simply exist for him, when and how he wants me."

A chill ran down my spine at the emptiness in her words. The complete surrender of self was somehow more terrifying than any scheme or manipulation.

"What do you think will happen to Sarah?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"The same thing that happened to you, of course." Victoria's laugh tinkled like broken crystal. "Do you really think having his children will save her? Theodore Pierce isn't kept by anything or anyone. The more you try to hold him, the faster he slips away."

After hanging up, I sat in my car for a long time, staring at nothing. A wave of nausea washed over me. Sarah and I had been fighting each other, tearing at each other's throats, while Victoria watched from the shadows, patient as a spider. Her ruthless calculation made my schemes look like child's play.

Even if Sarah and I joined forces, I doubted we could match Victoria's particular brand of devotion. She had surrendered everything—pride, dignity, identity—in service to her obsession with Theodore. How do you fight someone with nothing left to lose?