Chapter 16
The rain had stopped by dawn, leaving the city washed in a pale, gray light. Inside the Midnight Owl Diner, Vivienne sat perfectly still as Marcus carefully applied a butterfly bandage to a deep cut on her arm. The revelation of the Zurich vault had temporarily shocked her system out of its catatonic despair.
"How much is in it?" Vivienne asked, her voice raspy. She was wearing an oversized gray hoodie that Gina the waitress had lent her, entirely covering the ruined crimson gown.
"I don't know the exact figure," Marcus replied, packing up the first-aid kit. "Evelyn didn't share numbers with muscle. But it was heavy. Gold bullion, bearer bonds, and untraceable diamonds. It’s an emergency fund. Enough to disappear and live very comfortably for the rest of your life."
Vivienne stared at her hands. Just hours ago, she wouldn't have considered fleeing. She would have fought for her penthouse, her social standing, and her pride. But the terrifying memory of Stallone’s cold eyes and the absolute ease with which he dismantled her life had broken something fundamental inside her. She didn't want to fight a ghost. She just wanted to survive.
"Zurich is across the ocean," Vivienne said, her practical, calculating mind finally beginning to reboot. "My passport was in my purse. Stallone has it. My face is famous. I can't just walk into an airport and board a commercial flight. They’ll arrest me for fraud before I reach security."
"We don't fly commercial," Marcus said, pulling out a burner phone he had kept hidden in his boot. "I have contacts in the smuggling routes. Cargo planes that fly out of private airstrips in New Jersey. They don't check passports; they check cash."
"But I don't have any cash," Vivienne pointed out, frustration edging back into her voice.
Marcus looked at her, then reached into his tactical vest. He pulled out a small, heavy velvet pouch and placed it on the table. He untied the strings, revealing three large, flawless cut diamonds. They caught the harsh fluorescent light of the diner, glittering brilliantly.
Vivienne gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Where did you get those?"
"When Stallone’s men ambushed me in the garage, I knew the night was lost," Marcus explained quietly. "While they were dragging me to the elevator, I managed to slip my hand into the lockbox in your limo. These were the backup pieces you kept for the gala."
Vivienne stared at the diamonds. They were her grandmother’s stones. A tiny, glittering fraction of the empire she had just lost. But right now, they were the most valuable things in the world. They were her ticket out of hell.
"This is enough to buy us a flight and fake passports," Marcus said, sweeping the diamonds back into the pouch. "But we have to move fast. Stallone’s men will be sweeping the city looking for us. They won't leave loose ends."
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Vivienne took a deep breath, pulling the hood of the oversized sweatshirt over her head, hiding her face. The arrogant heiress was dead. The survivor had just been born.
"Call your contacts, Marcus," Vivienne said, her eyes hardening with a new, desperate resolve. "Get us to Zurich."
