Chapter 4 - The Corporate Guillotine
Julian looked as if I had shot him in the stomach. He physically swayed, grabbing the edge of the glass coffee table to steady himself.
"What... what did you do?" he whispered, raw terror bleeding into his voice.
"I downloaded the offshore ledgers, Julian," I said, showing him no mercy. "I traced the wire transfers to the Cayman Islands. I found the consulting fees you were kicking back to your mother to keep her quiet about Sloane. The Harrington merger was a fake front to cover the liquidity gap. You've been stealing millions from your clients to fund your little romantic getaways."
"You hacked my computer?!" he screamed, lunging forward.
Marcus stepped between us effortlessly, shoving Julian back. "I wouldn't do that, Julian. The federal agents waiting in the lobby are looking for any excuse to add assault to your indictment."
"Federal agents?" Julian choked out, his eyes wide and wild.
"Yes," I nodded. "I forwarded the entire digital dossier to the US Attorney’s Office. They are executing warrants at your firm’s headquarters right now. Sloane has already been detained for questioning regarding her role in the wire fraud. I imagine she’s singing like a canary to save herself from a twenty-year sentence."
The heavy oak doors of the penthouse swung open without a knock.
Constance barged in, her hair disheveled, her expensive Chanel coat thrown hastily over her shoulders. She looked absolutely frantic. "Julian! The firm is crawling with feds! They froze my bank accounts! What the hell is going on?!"
Constance stopped when she saw me standing there, looking perfectly calm and entirely in control.
"Hello, Constance," I smiled coldly. "I told you I had phone calls to make."
"You did this?" Constance hissed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You ruined my family over a stupid little affair?! You vindictive, hysterical bitch!"
"No, Constance," I corrected her, stepping forward. "Julian ruined this family when he abandoned a dying child. You ruined yourselves when you decided that stealing millions of dollars was an acceptable way to fund your arrogant lifestyles. You told me a smart Wall Street wife knows when to look the other way. You forgot that a smart federal prosecutor knows exactly where to look."
Two FBI agents stepped into the penthouse, flashing their badges.
"Julian Vance? Constance Vance?" the lead agent announced, his voice booming with authority. "You are both under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, money laundering, and corporate embezzlement. Put your hands behind your backs."
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Julian collapsed to his knees on the hardwood floor, sobbing openly, begging me to tell the agents it was a mistake. Constance shrieked hysterically as the cold steel handcuffs clicked around her wrists, her aristocratic dignity completely shattered in a matter of seconds.
I watched as they dragged the two of them out of the penthouse. The designer shopping bags Julian had brought back from St. Barts sat abandoned on the coffee table, a pathetic monument to the life he had thrown everything away for.
