Chapter 4 - The House of Cards Collapses
Vance and his associates didn't wait for a second warning. They packed their briefcases in absolute, frantic silence, snapping locks shut and sliding laptops into leather satchels with trembling haste. Within three minutes, the front double doors clicked shut behind them, followed by the crunch of gravel as the three black SUVs sped down the private driveway toward the Greenwich gates.
Inside the dining room, only the family remained.
Julian was sobbing softly into his palms, his expensive designer world crumbling before his eyes. "Sienna... please. The loan sharks in Brooklyn... they aren't bankers. They’re private lenders from Queens. If I don't show them collateral for the bridge financing by tomorrow noon, they’ll come to my apartment. You have millions in the maritime account. Just give me five hundred thousand. A loan. I'll pay ten percent interest!"
"No, Julian," I said, looking down at my half-brother. "Every time Dad wrote you a check, he bought you another six months of delusion. You have six failed restaurants because you don't know how to run a kitchen, you don't know how to manage inventory, and you spend your profits on high-stakes poker. You need to file for Chapter 7 bankruptcy, sell your sports cars, and get a job where you punch a clock like an ordinary human being."
"You're destroying our family!" Victoria screamed, lunging across the table to knock over a crystal water pitcher. The water pooled across the polished wood, soaking the shredded waiver documents. "You cold-blooded, heartless little monster! We raised you! We gave you everything!"
"Dad raised me," I said, stepping right up to my mother until she had to tilt her chin to look into my eyes. "You spent my childhood telling me I wasn't pretty enough to marry well, wasn't charming enough for high society, and wasn't smart enough to run a business. You pushed me out the door the day I turned eighteen. The United States Army gave me a family. They gave me honor. And they taught me how to recognize an enemy combatant, even when she's wearing Chanel."
Richard grabbed his overcoat off the settee by the bay window. "Come on, Victoria. We're getting an emergency injunction from the state supreme court. She's bluffing about the federal audit. No U.S. Attorney moves that fast on an estate dispute."
Just as the words left his mouth, a low, pulsing blue light began flashing against the dining room windows.
Then another. And another.
Two unmarked black Crown Victorias and a marked Connecticut State Police cruiser pulled into the circular motor court, their tires spraying loose stones as they boxed in Richard’s Mercedes.
Four men in dark windbreakers bearing yellow federal emblems stepped out into the evening mist, followed by two uniformed state troopers.
Richard froze, his overcoat slipping from his fingers to puddle on the rug. "No... no, this is impossible."
"My father's monitoring report was submitted three weeks ago, Richard," I said quietly, checking my wristwatch. "I scheduled this meeting for seven-thirty because the federal grand jury in New Haven finished unsealing the maritime fraud indictments at five o'clock this afternoon. I told the field agents I would be here to ensure you didn't leave the jurisdiction on a private charter."
The heavy front door chimed once, followed by the heavy turn of the brass deadbolt as my security detail let the agents inside.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and an FBI credential folder stepped into the dining room archway. "Richard Sterling?"
Richard stood paralyzed, his hands shaking at his sides.
"I’m Special Agent Miller, Federal Financial Crimes Division," the agent announced, producing a folded white warrant from his inner pocket. "I have a warrant for your arrest for interstate wire fraud, conspiracy to embezzle federal maritime subsidies, and money laundering. Step forward and place your hands behind your back."
Victoria let out a blood-curdling shriek as the two state troopers moved in with mechanical efficiency, turning Richard around and clicking stainless steel handcuffs over his wrists.
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"Victoria! Call the firm! Call Vance!" Richard screamed as he was marched toward the foyer, his polished loafers dragging across the hardwood. "Call Vance right now!"
"Mr. Vance won't be answering your calls, Richard," I called out after him. "His firm just dropped you as a client thirty seconds ago."
