Chapter 5 - The Trap Snaps Shut
Derek Collins took an instinctive step backward toward the marble staircase, but Miller was already positioned behind him, his broad frame blocking the descent. Derek spun around like a trapped animal, his designer shoes sliding against the polished floor.
""Harper, listen to me,"" Derek stammered, his voice climbing an octave as dozens of Chicago’s most influential power brokers turned their cameras toward him. ""It wasn't me! Vance forced me into it! He had gambling markers on my brother's business! He told me if I didn't pull the authentication tokens from your laptop, he would destroy our lives! I did it to protect our future, Harper! I did it for the house in Evanston!""
Harper felt a sudden, profound sense of release. Standing there in the center of the grand hall, looking at the pathetic, groveling creature who had shared her bed, she felt no heartbreak. The ghost of the man she thought she loved had vanished; in his place stood nothing more than a cheap, cowardly thief.
""You measured a dining room table for twelve people, Derek,"" Harper said, her voice piercing the silence with terrifying clarity. ""While you were uploading a keylogger to my computer. You threw my grandmother’s photograph into the trash before you walked out the door. Don't speak to me about our future. You don't have one.""
Marcus Vance lunged forward, his composed executive mask completely shattering. ""Shut up, you idiot!"" Vance snarled at Derek. ""Security, clear this room! Call the commissioner!""
""The commissioner is currently reviewing the unencrypted ledger logs we submitted to the Department of Justice forty-five minutes ago,"" Alexander Ward said, stepping smoothly between Vance and Harper. Alexander pulled a thin leather portfolio from his inside pocket and opened it before the gathered crowd. ""Every email between Derek Collins and your personal shell corporation over the past nine months has been recovered from your private offshore server. It seems your IT administrator was surprisingly cooperative once he realized he was looking at twenty years for corporate espionage.""
Two men in crisp charcoal suits walked through the main archway, accompanied by four uniformed federal marshals. The lead agent pulled his gold badge from his pocket and held it up to Vance’s face.
""Marcus Vance? Derek Collins? I am Special Agent Henderson with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We have federal arrest warrants for wire fraud, identity theft, and grand larceny under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act.""
The sound of metal handcuffs clicking into place echoed loudly off the marble walls of the Art Institute.
Derek collapsed to his knees, sobbing openly, begging Harper to look at him, to tell them it was all a misunderstanding. Harper didn't spare him a second glance. She watched Marcus Vance’s arms being pulled behind his back, his silver hair falling across his forehead in disarray, his prestigious award left abandoned on a nearby catering tray.
As the marshals escorted both men down the grand staircase into the flashing red-and-blue lights waiting outside on Michigan Avenue, the crowd remained dead silent.
Alexander turned to Harper, offering his arm once more. ""I believe your business here is concluded, Ms. Mitchell.""
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Harper let out a long, quiet breath that she felt she had been holding since Tuesday evening. She placed her gloved hand on his arm, feeling the solid, unshakable strength beneath his jacket. ""Not quite, Mr. Ward. We still have an eleven-point-four-million-dollar escrow to repatriate. And tomorrow morning, I have an entire accounting firm to rebuild.""
Alexander looked down at her, his dark eyes carrying a rare warmth that had never been there before. ""Then let's get to work.""
