Chapter 4
The overhead emergency lights flickered on, flooding the room with stark red light.
The heavy oak doors of the ICU burst open.
Four armed Chicago police officers, who had been stationed right outside my room, charged inside with weapons raised.
Behind them stood the State’s Attorney.
“Drop the needle! Hands behind your head! Down on the floor now!”
Julian dropped the syringe.
The plastic cylinder bounced off the linoleum, rolling harmlessly under my bed.
He raised his hands, shaking violently, as the officers slammed him against the wall,
snapping steel handcuffs around his wrisTS.
As they hauled him toward the door, Julian looked back at me, his face twisted in desperate, pathetic terror.
“Nora! Please! Tell them it was an accident! Selina made me do it! It was Selina!”
I leaned back against my pillows, looking down at the smartwatch on my wrist.
“Take his phone,” I told the lead detective calmly.
“Search his private messages under ‘Selina Cole.’ You’ll find the transfer of two million dollars from Vance Global accounts made forty-eight hours ago to pay off the medical examiner who falsified Selina’s injury report.”
Julian went completely pale.
“How… how do you know about that?”
“Because while you were planning my murder,” I said, my voice cold as ice, “I was buying your company’s board of directors.”
FINAL: The Reckoning
Three weeks later, the sun shone brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Cook County Courthouse.
I sat in the front row of the gallery,
dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit, leaning lightly on a cane.
Beside me sat Dr. Caleb Reed, who had agreed to serve as the chief medical expert witness for the prosecution.
At the defense table sat Julian Vance and Selina Cole.
Selina no longer looked like the delicate, innocent victim who had burst into my living room with a scratch on her arm.
Her designer clothes had been replaced by an orange jumpsuit, her hair was disheveled, and her eyes darted frantically around the courtroom.
When the lead prosecutor played the complete, unedited audio file extracted from my smartwatch—paired with the ICU security footage showing Julian attempting to inject a lethal dose of potassium chloride into my IV line—the jury reached a verdict in less than forty-five minutes.
Guilty of attempted first-degree murder.
Guilty of conspiracy to commit murder.
Guilty of corporate embezzlement.
The judge slammed his gavel down, sentencing Julian Vance to forty-five years in a maximum-security state penitentiary without the possibility of parole.
Selina Cole received thirty years for her role as co-conspirator and accessory to attempted murder.
As the bailiffs stepped forward to lead them away in chains, Julian turned to look at me one last time, tears streaming down his face, begging with his eyes for a shred of mercy.
I didn’t offer a single word.
I simply adjusted the lapel of my jacket.
Following Julian’s arrest, the board of directors of Vance Global had voted unanimously to strip him of his CEO title and asset holdings.
Using the evidence of his embezzlement, my legal team had executed a complete takeover of his controlling shares.
I wasn’t just a survivor anymore.
I was now the primary owner and Chairwoman of Vance Global.
Outside the courthouse, dozens of reporters gathered around the stone steps, cameras flashing.
A reporter thrust a microphone toward my face.
May you like
“Mrs. Vance! What do you have to say to the public after taking control of your husband’s empire?”
I stood at the top of the steps, looking out at the city skyline, feeling the cool morning breeze against my face.
