Chapter 7 - The Spectral Evidence
I didn't reach for a pen. Instead, I opened my briefcase, pulled out a sleek silver flash drive, and placed it gently in the center of the table.
Walter glanced at the drive, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What is that?”
“That is the audio and video recording from the patio fixture beside my teak lounger,” I said calmly. “Captured in 4K resolution, with stereo multichannel sound, timestamped yesterday between one and five in the afternoon.”
Diane laughed nervously, waving her manicured hand. “We already told you, Claire. Illegal recordings are completely inadmissible. Walter will have them suppressed before a judge even looks at the file.”
“They aren't inadmissible when they capture the planning and execution of federal wire fraud, Diane,” I replied.
I picked up the remote control for the boardroom’s eighty-inch presentation screen, plugged the wireless receiver into the wall port, and hit play.
The room filled with the unmistakable sound of Chablis pouring into crystal glasses.
Then came Corbin’s voice, amplified through the boardroom’s ceiling surround-sound speakers: “Once Claire signs the updated business indemnification documents tonight, her company’s liquid reserves will be collateralized under my name. When she defaults on the phantom supplier debts Walter manufactured, the house and the commercial accounts transfer straight into our trust. She won't even know she’s broke until she’s out on the curb.”
Walter’s pen snapped in his hand. The plastic cracked like a gunshot in the silent room.
Diane’s mouth opened, her eyes bulging as she stared at the screen in sheer, unadulterated horror.
Brielle shrank back into her chair, pulling her sweater up around her chin as tears began streaming down her orange-streaked cheeks.
“Turn it off!” Corbin roared, jumping out of his chair and lunging across the table to rip the HDMI cable from the wall.
The screen went black, but the damage was done. The air in the room was thick, suffocating, and charged with terror.
“That’s illegal surveillance!” Walter stammered, his legal arrogance instantly disintegrating into pure panic. “You set us up! That’s an illegal wiretap!”
“It’s a perimeter security camera on a commercial-grade private residence,” I said, pulling out a second set of documents and sliding them across the table. “And here is the sworn affidavit from the State Forensic Toxicology Unit. Your client didn't suffer chemical burns, Walter. She suffered an oxidized cosmetic reaction from SunGlow Ultra-Dermis tanning lotion, which contains zero toxic agents. The total medical treatment required is a two-dollar bottle of baby oil and a warm shower.”
I turned my gaze to Brielle, whose shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.
“You’re twenty-four years old, Brielle,” I said softly. “You let an aging, bankrupt con artist convince you that he was going to make you queen of a stolen empire. Do you know what the statutory minimum sentence is for conspiracy to commit wire fraud in excess of one million dollars? It’s seven years in a federal penitentiary. How does an orange jumpsuit sound to match your skin?”
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Brielle let out a wailing cry, buried her face in her hands, and began babbling. “I didn't know! Corbin told me the money was his! He told me the house was his family's property! I didn't want to hurt anybody, I swear!”
“Shut up, Brielle!” Corbin shouted, his voice cracking hysterically. “Shut your mouth!”
