Chapter 234: The Culprit Revealed
Fitzgerald’s assistant, Axelrod Dunphy, charged through the hallways with the focus of a battlefield messenger carrying orders that would determine whether an army survived the day. His expression was grim, his pace relentless, and anyone unfortunate enough to be standing in his path quickly stepped aside.
He obtained the security footage in record time.
The parking garage security guard stood nearby, sweating so heavily that Axelrod briefly wondered if the man was attempting to drown himself before the consequences arrived.
The moment the footage began playing, Axelrod understood why.
A woman in designer clothes marched across the screen.
A woman who clearly had strong feelings about employment opportunities.
A woman who then walked up to Fitzgerald’s Bentley and kicked it.
Hard.
Axelrod closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then he opened them again and slowly turned toward the security guard.
"Why," he asked with terrifying calm, "did you allow a job applicant into the VVIP parking area?"
The guard immediately straightened.
"Mr. Dunphy, she said she was the boss’s fiancée."
Axelrod stared at him.
The guard swallowed.
"And..."
"And?"
"She was driving a Mini Cooper."
The guard said it as though that explained everything.
Axelrod blinked.
"A Mini Cooper."
"Yes, sir."
"A Mini Cooper convinced you she was the boss’s fiancée?"
The guard looked increasingly unsure of his life choices.
"I thought... it was humble wealth?"
Axelrod pinched the bridge of his nose.
There were moments in life when a man simply accepted that fate had abandoned him.
This was one of them.
He looked back at the monitor.
Onscreen, Samantha was extracting her heel from the Bentley’s door with remarkable determination.
Then she took a picture.
Then she left, as though vandalizing a luxury vehicle was just another item on her daily schedule.
Axelrod sighed.
His gaze drifted toward the live security feed.
Several cameras away, Fitzgerald was still kneeling beside the Bentley. Petting it. Whispering to it. Mourning it, like a Victorian widower who had lost the love of his life at sea.
"We are all dead today," Axelrod muttered.
The security guard looked ready to agree.
"Contact HR. Find out who she is. I need a name, a file, a background check, her interview notes, and preferably her entire life story. I’ll take the footage to him."
The guard immediately began making calls.
Axelrod took the drive containing the footage and headed toward the parking garage. Halfway there, someone stepped into his path.
Timothy Rathbourne.
"Is there a problem?" Timothy asked.
Axelrod stared at him for a moment.
Then he handed over the drive as though delivering evidence from a murder scene.
"His Bentley got damaged."
Timothy frowned.
"Which Bentley?"
Axelrod remained silent. Timothy’s expression slowly changed. Then his face drained of color.
"Not the one with the custom ombre paint."
Axelrod said nothing.
Timothy looked horrified. "The one he treats like a lover?"
"Exactly that one, sir."
For several seconds, Timothy simply stood there, blinking, processing... failing to breathe. His older brother’s attachment to that car was legendary within the family.
There were relatives he treated with less affection. There were probably world leaders he spoke to with less patience.
The realization hit Timothy with the force of a freight train.
"Oh no."
Axelrod nodded solemnly.
"Oh yes."
Timothy turned toward the parking garage. His brother was absolutely going to lose his mind. There was a genuine possibility he would declare war on an entire nation before lunch.
By dinner, he might challenge a nuclear power out of spite.
The world itself could end today.
After all, if his beloved Bentley had suffered, why should civilization be allowed to continue?
Without another word, Timothy joined the increasingly panicked assistant.
Together, they marched toward the parking garage like two diplomats rushing to prevent an international catastrophe.
Unfortunately, the catastrophe had already occurred.
It was parked in VVIP space three.
Fitzgerald slowly rose to his feet.
Axelrod immediately handed him the tablet.
Nearby, Timothy watched his older brother with intense concentration, studying every movement, every blink, every subtle shift in expression in an attempt to predict what kind of disaster was about to unfold.
Unfortunately, Fitzgerald Rathbourne had been professionally diagnosed as a psychopath. Reading him was about as easy as reading a marble statue. His face remained perfectly composed as he watched the footage.
The footage continued all the way until she drove away in her Mini Cooper. Fitzgerald watched every second. Once it ended, he handed the tablet back to Axelrod.
The silence that followed was somehow worse than shouting.
Axelrod swallowed. "They should have her details by now, sir. I’ll begin the investigation immediately."
"No need."
The interruption was calm. Almost absentminded. Fitzgerald’s gaze had already returned to the damaged Bentley.
"You don’t have to investigate her."
Timothy frowned. Axelrod blinked. Both men looked at each other, then back at Fitzgerald.
"I know exactly who she is."
Timothy’s eyes widened slightly. That was somehow more concerning. He studied his brother again. He was still calm and composed. Still displaying all the emotional reactions of a luxury refrigerator.
Who was this woman?
And more importantly... What kind of catastrophe was about to follow?
Axelrod carefully approached.
Experience had taught him that approaching Fitzgerald after damage to the Bentley required the same caution one would use when approaching an unexploded bomb.
"Shall I send the bill to the lady?"
It seemed like a reasonable solution. The damage looked expensive. The woman was obviously responsible. Surely she should pay for it.
Fitzgerald’s head slowly turned. His sharp gray eyes landed on Axelrod. Axelrod immediately regretted being born. If Fitzgerald possessed Superman’s laser vision, he would have been reduced to ash on the spot.
Thankfully for everyone present, Fitzgerald’s abilities remained limited to psychological warfare.
"You think I can’t spend fifty thousand dollars on my baby?"
His hand moved across the damaged panel. Not inspecting it. Caressing it, like a grieving husband comforting an injured spouse.
Axelrod opened his mouth. Closed it. Then wisely chose silence.
Fitzgerald continued stroking the Bentley.
"Money won’t matter to her either."
The statement puzzled both Timothy and Axelrod.
Fitzgerald’s fingers traced the cracked paint one last time before a small smile appeared on his face.
A very small smile; the kind that belonged on the face of a villain moments before the hero realized the trap had already been sprung.
"I know exactly how to handle her."
Timothy felt a chill run down his spine.
Oh no! That smile...That was the smile... The smile Fitzgerald wore whenever he was about to ruin someone’s life in a way that was technically legal.
He shrugged and walked away, leaving his brother to his devices... until he learned who that was.
Samantha Preston, the niece of Catherine Preston, Maximilian’s fiancée.
Timothy almost threw up.
This is not good... not good at all...
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