politico

Chapter 3 - The Crestview Convoy

The rain was relentless. Within thirty seconds of walking down the long, winding driveway of the Lake Minnetonka estate, my clothes were completely soaked through. Water ran down my face, washing away the light makeup I had put on that morning.

I carried my heavy duffel bag over my shoulder, keeping my eyes fixed on the pavement ahead.

Behind me, I heard the electronic gates of the Pierce estate click shut with a heavy, final metallic thud.

I walked for two blocks down the quiet, tree-lined residential street, intentionally stepping past the range of the neighborhood association’s private security cameras. I stopped under the wide, dripping canopy of an old oak tree at the corner of the avenue.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small, waterproof satellite phone, unlocked the screen, and pressed a single pre-programmed speed-dial key.

The line rang once.

"Miss Miller," a deep, crisp voice answered instantly on the second ring. "We have been monitoring your live stream feed for the last twenty minutes. Are you safe?"

"I am out of the house, Arthur," I said, my voice dropping its timid tone, replacing it with the sharp, commanding steel that was my true nature. "Did the server capture Mason Vance’s statement?"

"Every word, Miss Miller," Arthur Vance, the senior managing director and chief legal advisor of Crestview Partners, replied calmly. "Along with forty-eight minutes of audio from last night detailing the physical assault and the forced signing of the marital waiver under duress."

"Good," I said, wiping cold rainwater from my eyelashes. "Send the vehicles."

"They are already thirty seconds away from your location, ma'am."

Less than half a minute later, the quiet suburban street reverberated with the low, deep hum of powerful modern engines.

Two glossy, blacked-out Cadillac Escalades equipped with bulletproof diplomatic glass pulled up smoothly beside the curb, their orange hazard lights blinking in unison through the heavy sheets of rain.

The rear door of the lead Escalade opened immediately.

A tall man in his late fifties wearing an immaculate bespoke charcoal suit stepped out into the pouring rain, holding a massive black golf umbrella. It was Arthur Vance himself.

He didn't care that the rainwater was soaking his ten-thousand-dollar suit trousers. He hurried across the pavement, holding the umbrella high above my head to shield me from the storm.

"Miss Sabrina," Arthur said, his eyes filled with immense respect and deep, quiet anger as he glanced at the dark bruise forming along the left side of my jawline. "Your father has been waiting in the Chicago command center for the last three hours. The full board of directors of Crestview Partners has been convened."

He opened the passenger door wider, offering his gloved hand to assist me into the heated leather interior of the vehicle.

"Thank you, Arthur," I said, stepping inside.

The interior of the Escalade was immaculate. A heated cashmere blanket was waiting on the seat, along with a warm mug of black tea and a secure tablet displaying real-time financial tracking algorithms.

I sat down, wrapping the soft cashmere blanket around my shoulders, feeling the warmth slowly return to my chilled skin.

Arthur closed the door, stepped into the front passenger seat, and turned to look back at me as the driver pulled out into traffic, heading straight toward the downtown Minneapolis heliport.

"Gavin Pierce believes he is meeting with Crestview’s junior investment team on Friday morning at nine AM to sign the 3.2-billion-dollar equity purchase," Arthur stated cleanly.

"Cancel the junior meeting, Arthur," I said, taking a slow sip of the hot tea. "We’re calling an emergency board review for four PM today at Crestview Tower."

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"And Mr. Pierce?" Arthur asked, a subtle, cold smile touching his lips.

"Let him think he's won for another six hours," I murmured, staring out the tinted window as the distant skyline of Minneapolis rose through the gray rain. "The higher a man thinks he’s climbing, the more breathtaking it is when he hits the concrete."

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