Page 22 of The Vows He Buried

The days following my father’s funeral were a strange paradox.

The world was muted, colors less vibrant, sounds muffled by the thick, heavy blanket of my grief.

Yet, at the same time, my mind had never been sharper, my purpose never clearer.

The letter Lucian had delivered, my father’s last words to me, had not been a comfort. It had been a key.

It contained no sentimental farewells. My father had said his goodbyes in the way he lived his life: through action.

The letter was a single sheet of paper containing a complex alphanumeric code and a short, cryptic message written in his familiar, strong hand: They will come for it, Vannah.

The heart of the company. Don’t let them have it.

This is the only key. You’ll know what to do.

It was the master key to Project Chimera, my father’s revolutionary, top-secret project—an AI-driven predictive analytics engine that was poised to change the face of global finance.

It was the heart of BlakeCore’s future, and he had entrusted its ultimate protection to me.

The weight of that trust was immense, a sacred duty that anchored me in my sea of sorrow.

I was in my penthouse, the command center of my new life, reviewing the preliminary designs for Heirloom Reclaimed’s launch campaign when the package arrived.

It was delivered not by a professional courier, but by a generic city bike messenger, a deliberate move to ensure anonymity.

It was a plain, brown padded envelope with no return address, my name and address printed in a stark, impersonal block font.

I knew, with a chilling certainty, what it was. This was the enemy’s next move.

My hands were steady as I slit open the envelope. Inside were two items. The first was a single sheet of white paper, a typed, unsigned letter. The second was a black USB flash drive, identical to the one Lucian had given me, a mocking imitation.

I read the letter first. The words were blunt, brutal, and reeked of Sienna’s particular brand of desperate arrogance.

Savannah,

Your little games are over. Your pathetic attempt at a hostile takeover of your own life ends now. You think you’re so clever, so powerful. You’re nothing but a spoiled girl playing dress-up in a world you don’t understand.

On this drive is a video. A rather intimate video of your beloved Maddox and me, on the night he finally admitted to himself who he truly wanted. It’s quite touching, really. And quite damning.

Here are my terms. They are not negotiable.

1. You will immediately drop the fraudulent annulment proceedings and all associated lawsuits against the Vale family.

2. You will sign over your entire stake in BlakeCore to a trust managed by Maddox.

3. You will cease all operations of your little vanity fashion project, effective immediately.

4. You will disappear. A quiet, dignified retreat from public life is advised.

You have 24 hours to comply. If I do not receive confirmation from your lawyers that these terms have been met, this video will be sent to every major news outlet, every gossip blog, and every board member of BlakeCore.

The world will see the truth about the broken, pathetic marriage you’re fighting for. They will see Maddox choosing me.

Your move.

I read the letter twice, a cold, clinical calm settling over me. The threats were laughably amateurish, the demands of a greedy child who had stumbled upon a loaded gun and thought it made her a queen. She didn't understand. She was threatening to burn down a house I had already evacuated.

My feelings for Maddox were a wasteland.

The video held no emotional power over me.

But I knew the damage it could do. Not to my heart, but to my strategy.

In the hands of a skilled PR team, Evelyn could spin this.

She could paint me as the scorned, vengeful wife, my legal actions not a pursuit of justice but a reaction to infidelity.

It could muddy the waters, create a narrative of a messy, emotional love triangle that would distract from the cold, hard facts of their criminal behavior.

Sienna thought she was holding a bomb. She was, but she had no idea the blast radius would consume her first.

I did not plug the USB drive into my computer. I had no interest in watching the sordid details of Maddox’s pathetic surrender. I treated it as I would any other piece of evidence: with caution and professional distance.

I picked up my phone and made two calls.

The first was to Rowan, my cybersecurity expert.

“Rowan, I’m sending a package to you via secure courier.

It contains a USB drive. I need you to do a full forensic analysis.

I want to know everything. What’s on it, its origin, any metadata you can pull.

I also need you to trace the source of the delivery service that dropped it off.

It was an anonymous city messenger, but they must have an electronic trail. I want to know who paid for it.”

“Consider it done, Savannah,” Rowan’s voice was crisp and efficient. “Give me three hours.”

The second call was to Harper. I read her the letter verbatim.

“That absolute bitch,” Harper breathed, her voice a low hiss of fury. “She’s actually proud of it. She thinks this is her checkmate.”

“It’s a desperate move, Harper,” I said calmly. “And a stupid one. She’s just handed us a gift.”

“What do you want to do? We can get an injunction, try to block the release…”

“No,” I said firmly. “We don’t play defense. We don’t react. We attack. She wants to play this game? Fine. Let’s play.”

I laid out my plan. Harper was silent for a moment when I finished, a stunned admiration in her silence. “Vannah… that’s not just brilliant. It’s brutal. I love it.”

“They drew the battle lines, Harper. I’m just choosing the weapons.”

Two hours later, Rowan called back. His efficiency was terrifying.

“Okay, got it,” he said, the sound of furious typing in the background.

“The drive contains a single video file, 47 minutes long. High-definition, infrared. It’s exactly what the letter described.

The interesting part is the metadata. The file was created on a device registered to Sienna Ward.

No surprises there. But it was copied onto this drive from a desktop computer hardwired into the Vale Global guest network.

The IP address is firewalled, but I got around it.

The computer is in Sienna’s suite at the mansion. ”

“She did it from inside their own house,” I murmured. The arrogance was breathtaking.

“That’s not all,” Rowan continued. “The delivery service. The payment was made in cash, but the order was placed online from a burner email account. I traced the IP address from which the account was created. It pings back to the same Vale Global guest network.”

“She’s left a trail of digital breadcrumbs a child could follow,” I said, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. “Thank you, Rowan. Send the full forensic report to my legal team.”

Now I had everything I needed. The motive, the means, the undeniable proof of extortion originating from within the Vale empire.

I sat down at my laptop and opened a new email.

The recipient was a private, encrypted address for a law firm I didn’t recognize.

It was a contact Lucian had provided to me after the funeral, with a simple instruction: When they cross the final line, send your evidence here. They will know what to do.

I attached Rowan’s forensic report. I attached the video files from Deedee’s hidden cameras.

I attached the bank statements proving the payment to Dr. Finch.

And finally, I attached the massive file of financial crimes Lucian himself had given me.

It was the complete, damning portfolio of the Vale family’s sins, from the personal to the corporate to the criminally depraved.

The subject line was simple: The Red Line.

The body of the email was even simpler.

They crossed it.

Savannah Blake.

I hit send. There was no turning back. I had just launched the missile.

Then, I opened another email, this one addressed to Sienna Ward’s personal account, an address Harper had easily acquired. I didn’t copy her lawyers. I didn’t copy Maddox. This message was for her, and her alone.

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.