Page 34 of The Vows He Buried
I didn’t waste time with pleasantries or threats. I wrote a single sentence.
Leak it.
I sat back, a profound, chilling calm settling over me. I had turned her weapon back on her. She thought she was threatening me with public humiliation. I was daring her to do it. I was daring her to hand-deliver the evidence of her own extortion and conspiracy to the world. Let her release the video. My legal team was already preparing the narrative: the story of a vulnerable, grieving man, likely drugged and incapacitated, being taken advantage of by a manipulative, ambitious woman. The video wasn't a story of his infidelity; it was a story of her crime.
The trap she had set for Maddox had now snapped shut on her instead.
I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city below. It was a world of predators and prey, of games of power and control. For three years, I had been the prey. Now, I was the hunter.
My phone buzzed on the table. It was a news alert from a major financial network. My heart gave a single, hard thud. So soon?
I picked up the phone. The headline was stark, brutal, and beautiful.
FBI RAIDS VALE GLOBAL HEADQUARTERS; EVELYN AND MADDOX VALE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY FOR QUESTIONING.
The missile had hit its target. The world I had known was officially on fire. And I was the one holding the match.
Chapter 23: The Collapse
The world burned, and I watched it on a sixty-inch screen from my throne in the sky.
The news was a relentless, 24-hour cycle of glorious destruction. The FBI raid on Vale Global had been the spark, and the mountain of evidence I had provided to Lucian’s shadow law firm was the accelerant. They had, in turn, leaked it with surgical precision to the world’s most respected financial journalists. The result was a firestorm of a magnitude that even I hadn’t fully anticipated.
Vale Global’s stock hadn’t just plummeted; it had ceased to exist. Trading was halted indefinitely within an hour of the raid. The company’s accounts were frozen, its assets seized pending the federal investigation. The headlines were brutal, a daily barrage of corporate malfeasance laid bare for the world to see.VALE OF LIES: Inside the Decade of Deceit at a Wall Street Giant. PROJECT NIGHTINGALE: The Secret Slush Fund That Bought Politicians and Silenced Victims. EVELYN VALE: The Iron Matriarch’s Criminal Empire.
Lucian’s file had been a nuclear weapon, and its fallout was contaminating everything the Vales had ever touched. The bribery scandal in Dubai had triggered an international incident. The tax evasion scheme was being called one of the largest in corporate history. And my own story, the one Sienna had tried to use as blackmail, had been woven into the larger narrative with devastating skill. I was not the scorned wife; I was Patient Zero, the first and most intimate victim of the Vales’ systemic corruption, a conspiracy that included the paid-for terminationof my pregnancy. Deedee’s evidence, Dr. Finch’s records, and the wire transfer receipt were now exhibits in a federal case.
I watched it all unfold with a strange, detached calm. There was no triumph, no glee. The rage that had fueled me had done its job; it had burned the world clean. Now, in its place, was a quiet, hollow sense of finality. I had won. The war was over. All that was left was to survey the wreckage.
My days were spent in creation, an antidote to the destruction I had wrought. The penthouse was a vibrant hub of activity for Heirloom Reclaimed. Fabrics in rich, defiant jewel tones replaced the cold, minimalist aesthetic. The air was filled with the scent of fresh coffee, the hum of my creative team, and the sound of my own laughter—a sound that still surprised me with its authenticity. We were building something beautiful from the ashes of something ugly. We were creating a legacy.
Evelyn Vale was in federal custody, denied bail due to being a flight risk with access to billions in hidden offshore accounts. Sienna Ward had been arrested and charged with extortion, conspiracy, and a litany of other crimes, her pathetic attempt at blackmail now a key piece of the prosecution's evidence against the Vales.
Maddox, however, had been released. He was out on a ten-million-dollar bond, his passport surrendered, his assets frozen. He was, for all intents and purposes, under house arrest in the silent, empty tomb of the Vale mansion. He was a king with no kingdom, a CEO with no company, a man with no future. I hadn’t heard from him. I hadn’t expected to. There was nothing left to say.
I was wrong.
The call came not to my private line, but to my lawyer, Mark Jennings. Mark then called me.
“Savannah,” he said, his voice cautious. “I’ve just had a rather unusual call from Maddox Vale’s legal counsel. It seems his client is… insistent. He’s begging to see you.”
“The answer is no,” I said immediately, my voice hard. “All communication goes through you. That’s the rule.”
“I told him as much,” Mark said. “But he was… desperate. He said it wasn’t about the case. He said he knows it’s over. He just needs to speak to you, face to face. One last time. His lawyer said he’s… unwell. Unstable.”
A flicker of the old Savannah, the caretaker, the woman who had tried to soothe his demons, stirred within me. I quickly extinguished it. “His stability is not my concern.”
“I know,” Mark said gently. “But Savannah, from a strategic perspective… a man this desperate is a man who is unpredictable. Hearing him out, on your own terms, in a controlled environment, might be the final move that ensures he causes no further trouble. Let him have his final say, and then he is truly finished.”
I was silent for a long moment. Mark was right. This wasn't about pity. It was about control. It was about closing the last door so tightly it could never be reopened.
“Fine,” I said finally. “But on my terms. Not my home. Not his. Somewhere public, but private. Neutral ground.”
I chose the location: a small, secluded sculpture garden at the Frick Collection, a place of quiet beauty and old-world elegance.It was a place I had gone to sketch when I first moved to the city, a place that held no memories of him.
I arrived first, choosing a stone bench in a quiet alcove, surrounded by weathered statues and the rustling of autumn leaves. I wore a simple black dress and a camel-colored coat. I was not here as a warrior or a queen. I was simply here to witness the end.
He arrived exactly on time, walking through the stone archway alone. The sight of him stole my breath for a moment, not with longing, but with shock. The powerful, arrogant man I had known was gone, replaced by this hollowed-out stranger. He had lost weight. His expensive suit, which had always seemed like a second skin, now hung on his frame. There were dark, bruised circles under his eyes, and his hair, usually so perfectly styled, was unkempt. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks, a man who was being haunted by his own ghosts.
