Chapter 3 - The Morning Paper-3
By seven o'clock the following morning, the sun rose over the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies, casting a cold, crisp light across downtown Denver.
I stood in the kitchen of my Capitol Hill condominium. The apartment was a bright, modern penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. Polished concrete floors, custom walnut cabinetry, and sleek minimalist furniture filled the space—every single item designed, chosen, and paid for by my own hands. This was my sanctuary, built from late nights reviewing structural blueprints and negotiating multi-million-dollar commercial contracts.
My head still throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache under the fresh dressing, but I felt energized. I wore a tailored navy blazer, dark trousers, and dark sunglasses to cover the faint bruising near my eyebrow.
On the marble kitchen island sat a hot cup of black coffee and a fresh copy of the Denver Post.
Right on the front page of the Metro section was a prominent headline:
"PROMINENT REAL ESTATE DEVELOPER'S SON ARRESTED IN CHERRY HILLS DOMESTIC INCIDENT"
The article detailed the midnight arrest of Diego Sterling, including his booking photo—a pathetic shot of him looking disheveled, red-eyed, and terrified in his formal dinner suit. The report explicitly noted that the victim was a prominent commercial architect and that felony charges were being reviewed by the District Attorney’s domestic violence unit.
My phone rang. The caller ID showed Arthur Sterling—my father-in-law.
I picked it up on the third ring, placing it on speaker.
“Valerie!” Arthur’s voice boomed through the speaker, devoid of its usual suave, condescending warmth. He sounded breathless, furious, and rattled. “What is the meaning of this press release? Have you lost your mind? Diego is sitting in a holding cell with common criminals because of your theatrical stunt!”
“Good morning, Arthur,” I said calmly, taking a sip of my coffee. “I see you’ve read the paper.”
“Listen to me very carefully, young woman,” Arthur growled, his voice dropping into a low, threatening tone. “You are going to walk down to the magistrate’s office right now, drop these absurd charges, and tell the prosecutor that it was a misunderstanding. Do you have any idea what this headline is doing to our stock price this morning? Our investors are calling every five minutes!”
“Diego threw a heavy ceramic plate at my head from four feet away, Arthur,” I said, my voice dead level. “I have twelve stitches, a concussion diagnosis, and a police report. It wasn't a misunderstanding; it was a felony.”
“You pushed him!” Victoria’s sharp voice suddenly shrieked in the background as she took the phone from her husband. “You embarrassed him in front of his family! You brought this on yourself, you ungrateful little bitch! If you don't drop those charges immediately, Arthur will destroy your career! You will never work as an architect in this city again!”
I let out a soft, amused laugh. The sound seemed to catch Victoria completely off guard, deadening her tirade into a sudden, confused silence.
“Victoria,” I said softly, “you really don't know how the world works outside your gated community, do you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“It means that while you were spending the morning trying to bury your son’s mugshot, my attorney, Arthur Pendelton, was at the Denver County Courthouse,” I stated smoothly. “He has officially served Diego with divorce papers on the grounds of extreme cruelty and felony assault.”
“Divorce?” Victoria gasped. “You think you can divorce a Sterling? You won't get a single penny!”
“I don't want a single penny of your money, Victoria,” I replied. “In fact, I’m returning something to you. Mr. Pendelton has just filed a formal revocation of my professional architecture license from all Sterling Development Group projects.”
A sudden, sharp intake of breath came over the line. I heard the sound of paper shuffling violently on Arthur’s end, followed by his panicked voice in the background: “What did she say? Give me the phone!”
“Valerie! Wait!” Arthur shouted into the receiver, his voice suddenly stripped of all its previous bravado, replaced by sheer, unadulterated terror. “You can't revoke your license certification on the Apex Tower project! The city building inspectors are scheduled to sign off on the phase-three foundation bonds at ten o'clock today! If your firm withdraws its seal, the city will issue an immediate stop-work order!”
“Then I suggest you find another principal architect with a Class-A commercial certification before ten o'clock, Arthur,” I said quietly.
“There isn't another certified commercial architect in Colorado who can sign off on those specific seismic structural designs on short notice!” Arthur yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. “The bank will freeze our forty-million-dollar construction loan! It will trigger a cross-default on all our commercial properties!”
I picked up my leather briefcase from the counter, holding my phone close to my ear.
May you like
“You wanted my apartment for free, Arthur,” I said, my voice ice cold. “Instead, you’re about to lose your entire company. Have a wonderful day.”
I hung up the phone, turned it onto silent, and walked out the door to meet my legal team.
