Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE OF LIES
Corrine’s second interview with prosecutors lasted nearly six hours. By the time it ended, the mythology of the Sterling family had been stripped down to something uglier than any tabloid could have invented. Corrine admitted that Richard had discovered her hidden debts shortly before his death. She had borrowed against property she did not own, invested in fraudulent art funds recommended by social acquaintances, and allowed Everett Voss to restructure those obligations through private entities. In exchange, Voss gained extraordinary access to Sterling family trusts.
Corrine claimed she had not understood the full scheme. Thane believed only half of that. She understood enough to stay silent after Richard died. That realization hurt more than he expected. He visited her at the county detention facility under advice from prosecutors, who permitted a monitored conversation because Corrine had requested to speak with him. Thane almost refused. Alora told him to go.
“Not for her,” she said. “For you.” He sat across from his mother through reinforced glass. Without makeup, jewelry, or tailored clothing, Corrine looked smaller. Her gray roots were visible beneath blond hair usually maintained to perfection. But her eyes were unchanged—sharp, restless, searching for leverage even now.
“You look tired,” she said into the phone. Thane nearly laughed. “You attacked my pregnant wife.” Corrine flinched. “I lost control.” “You planned the burglary.” “I was desperate.” “You brought forged legal documents.” “Everett said you had stolen from me.”
“And you believed him?” “He had proof.” “No. He had paper.” Corrine lowered her gaze. Thane watched her for several seconds. “Did you know my father thought Voss was stealing?” “I knew Richard was angry with him.” “Did you know Dad was going to federal authorities?”
Her eyes lifted. That was answer enough. Thane leaned closer to the glass. “Did you know before he died?” Corrine’s mouth trembled. “Yes.” The word barely existed. Thane closed his eyes. For fourteen years, he had lived with the memory of the phone call that told him Richard’s car had gone over an embankment. Corrine had collapsed in the kitchen and screamed until neighbors came running. Thane had held her on the tile floor while she shook.
Now he wondered how much of that grief had contained fear. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” “Because Everett came to me after the funeral.” Corrine’s voice grew thin. “He knew about the debts. He knew about every signature I had hidden from Richard. He said if I caused trouble, he would tell the police I had been moving money through Richard’s accounts. He said they would think I killed him for the inheritance.”
“Did you?” Corrine recoiled. “No.” “Did you help Voss kill him?” “No!” The force of her denial turned heads in the visiting room. Thane kept his voice flat. “Then you protected the man who may have.” Corrine began to cry.
He felt almost nothing. “You were nineteen,” she whispered. “I thought I was protecting you.” “You were protecting yourself.” “I was terrified.” “So was Alora.” That ended the argument. Corrine pressed her forehead against the glass. “I am sorry.”
Thane looked at his mother and understood something that years of money had hidden from him: remorse and consequence were not the same thing. Corrine might genuinely regret what she had done. She might spend the rest of her life regretting it.
That did not erase the floor beneath Alora’s body. “I hope you tell prosecutors everything,” he said. “Not to help me. Because it is the first decent thing left for you to do.” He hung up the phone and walked away while she called his name.
Outside, Elena waited near the vehicle. “Anything useful?” she asked. “Yes.” “What?” Thane looked back at the concrete building. “She finally stopped being my mother.” Elena did not respond. She simply opened the car door.
That night, the investigation accelerated. Federal agents executed warrants on Voss’s law offices, private residence, document warehouses, and two shell-company addresses in Nevada. The raids became instant news. Camera crews filmed boxes being carried out of the elegant Century City headquarters while employees stood stunned in the lobby.
Voss himself was not there. His phone had been turned off at 5:03 a.m. His driver had not seen him. His private aircraft remained in its hangar. He had disappeared. Then Sterling Meridian’s internal network was attacked.
At 2:14 a.m., malicious code attempted to wipe archived legal correspondence connected to Voss. The system’s segmentation prevented full destruction, but several servers were corrupted before cybersecurity teams isolated them. Elena traced the attack to credentials belonging to a senior vice president named Daniel Rourke, a man who had worked at Sterling Meridian for twenty-one years.
Rourke denied everything. Until agents found $3.8 million in an offshore account. The conspiracy expanded again. Rourke confessed that Voss had paid him for years to provide board materials, executive schedules, security changes, and internal legal disputes. He had also supplied the information that Thane would be flying to Tokyo on the night of the attack.
“He gave them the window,” Elena said. Thane stood in the estate library, surrounded by bankers’ boxes of recovered evidence. Alora had insisted on returning to the property during daylight to reclaim some sense that it still belonged to them. She sat near the windows while security technicians replaced access systems throughout the house.
“So Voss knew I’d be gone,” Thane said. “Yes.” “And the flight cancellation ruined the entire plan.” Elena nodded. “If the aircraft had departed on schedule, you would have been over the Pacific while Corrine and Sloan were inside the safe.”
Alora looked toward Thane. A hydraulic warning light. A grounded plane. A decision to drive home instead of sleep at an airport hotel. Tiny accidents had rearranged everything. Thane’s father might have called it luck. Thane was no longer sure he believed in luck.
Later that evening, Alora asked him to walk outside with her. They moved slowly along the terrace above the ocean. She tired easily now, and he matched her pace without comment. At the far end of the garden, she stopped.
“I don’t want our child born into a war,” she said. Thane’s jaw tightened. “Neither do I.” “Then promise me something.” “What?” “When this ends, let it end.” He knew what she meant. No endless revenge. No private crusade after the courts had finished. No becoming so consumed with punishing the people who hurt them that he forgot to build the life he was supposedly protecting.
May you like
Thane took her hand. “I promise.” Before Alora could answer, Elena’s voice came through the security earpiece clipped beneath his collar. “We found Voss.” Thane turned toward the house. “Where?” “Carmel.” “Arrested?” “No. He contacted us.”
Thane stopped breathing for a moment. Elena continued. “He says he has something you want.” “What?” “A second recording made by your father.” The ocean wind moved through the cypress trees. “And his condition?” Elena’s voice hardened. “He will give it to you only if you meet him alone.”
