Chapter 6 - Shadows by the Pool
Arthur stepped back into the suite, holding an iPad connected to a portable tactical monitor. His face was set in grim lines.
“Mr. Vance,” Arthur said, stepping between Julian and the weeping woman on the sofa. “The forensic digital team finished analyzing the security server in the garden pavilion.”
Julian turned away from Victoria, fixing his attention on the screen. “Tell me.”
“As we suspected, the primary exterior camera feed covering the cabana patio was manually disabled at 2:14 PM, eight minutes before the cart was shoved,” Arthur explained, his finger swiping across the timeline. “The software override was executed using an internal administrative login—specifically, the terminal in Mrs. Vance’s private dressing room.”
“It’s a lie!” Victoria screamed from the sofa, her makeup running in black, grotesque tracks down her cheeks. “Someone hacked my computer! Anyone could have walked into my room!”
“We anticipated that defense,” Arthur continued calmly, completely ignoring her outburst. “However, Mrs. Vance was unaware that three weeks ago, per your instructions regarding Leo’s safety following the pool fence incident, our team installed three micro-lens high-definition surveillance units within the bronze garden statues surrounding the pool.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “Show me.”
Arthur pressed play.
On the high-resolution screen, the scene played out in horrifying, cinematic clarity. The angle was from the bronze fountain twenty feet above the terrace.
The screen showed Leo playing happily with his plastic dinosaur by the iron wheels of the cake cart. It showed Elena being dismissed by Victoria. Then, it showed Victoria walking deliberately toward the display.
There was no trip. There was no accidental stumble. There was no wet spot on the stone pavers.
The camera caught Victoria’s face in ultra-sharp 4K resolution. Her sunglasses had slipped down her nose slightly, revealing eyes that were cold, vacant, and utterly devoid of humanity. The video clearly captured her gripping the brass guide bar, planting her left foot for leverage, and forcefully shoving the three-hundred-pound iron cart with all her strength directly down the slope toward the unsuspecting three-year-old boy.
The footage captured the cart accelerating, the terrifying moment of impact, the massive collapse of the white sugar monolith over the child, and the split-second smirk that crossed Victoria’s lips before she threw her hands into the air and began her faux-hysterical scream.
Julian felt a vein throb violently against his temple. The sheer malice of the act was beyond comprehension. It was a cold-blooded attempt at execution.
“That’s not all,” Arthur added, his voice dropping an octave. “We pulled the directional microphone audio from the same unit. Listen to what she said two minutes before the shove.”
Arthur tapped the screen.
The audio crackled, the string quartet playing in the background, the laughter of the guests. Then, Victoria’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and clear, speaking into an earpiece hidden beneath her blonde hair.
*“He’s playing right by the display. Elena is gone. The cart is loaded with the almond base. If the fall doesn't break his skull, the frosting will finish his lungs before the paramedics can navigate the hill gates. Have the jet fueled at Van Nuys. Once Julian goes to the hospital, I’ll claim emotional collapse and meet you at the hangar.”*
A man’s voice responded through the earpiece, low, cultured, and chillingly familiar to Julian:
*“Make it look messy, darling. The messier it is, the less the police will look for poison. See you in Zurich.”*
Julian’s eyes widened slightly. His knuckles turned stark white as he gripped the edge of the dresser.
He recognized that voice.
It was not a random pilot. It was not a faceless mercenary.
It was Dr. Anthony Cross.
The Chief of Internal Medicine at Pacific Hope Hospital.
May you like
The man who had served as Clara’s personal physician during her final six months of life.
***
