Chapter 4 - The Fall of Waverly Capital
Preston Waverly stared at Graham with eyes full of venomous hatred, realizing in an instant that his inside man had cracked before the first formal interrogation had even begun.
"Shut up, Graham, you coward!" Preston hissed, his tailored facade completely dissolving into raw, cornered malice.
He lunged toward the table, attempting to snatch the signed annex pages, but two FBI tactical officers grabbed his arms in an iron vice, slamming him face-down against the mahogany surface.
"Preston Waverly, you are under arrest for conspiracy to defraud the United States government, defense procurement fraud, and corporate bribery," Agent Pierce recited, ratcheting heavy steel cuffs around the billionaire's wrists.
Preston thrashed against the table, his gold necktie crooked, his face pressed against the polished wood where Owen’s badge had been knocked to the floor hours earlier.
"You can't do this to me!" Preston screamed, his voice muffled by the wood.
"I own thirty-five percent of this company! My family has funded congressional campaigns for forty years!"
"Then you can ask your congressional friends for legal defense recommendations, Mr. Waverly," Pierce replied without an ounce of pity, hauling him upright.
Maren Caldwell stood frozen at the head of the table, her face drained of all color, staring at the man she had trusted as her family’s senior business adviser.
"Preston..." Maren whispered, her voice cracking with deep, nauseating betrayal.
"My father considered you a brother. He trusted you with our entire legacy."
Preston laughed bitterly, a harsh, ugly sound that echoed off the high glass windows as the federal agents escorted him toward the door.
"Your father was a naive sentimentalist, Maren," Preston spat, glaring at her with venomous contempt.
"Just like you. You think manufacturing is about pride and precision? It’s about cash flow, leverage, and margins. Meridian was dying anyway."
"I was just taking my cut before the ship sank."
The federal agents dragged Preston Waverly out of the boardroom into the corridor, where dozens of factory managers, engineers, and administrative assistants watched in stunned silence.
Graham Pritchard was cuffed next, weeping and offering full cooperation to Agent Lin in exchange for a plea agreement before he even reached the elevator.
The heavy mahogany doors slowly swung shut, leaving Maren Caldwell alone in the vast room with Owen Mercer and Special Agent Pierce.
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the hum of the HVAC vents and the distant rumble of the factory machinery below.
Maren slowly sank into her executive chair, her hands shaking so violently she could barely interlock her fingers on the table.
She looked at the unblemished contract, then down at the plastic evidence bags containing the melted control modules.
If she had signed that document forty minutes earlier, she would have been facing twenty years in federal prison, and Meridian Industrial would have been destroyed forever.
She lifted her eyes, looking at Owen Mercer standing tall in his faded blue work shirt, his dark-green toolbox resting proudly on the mahogany table.
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"Mr. Mercer," she said, her voice barely a whisper in the echoing room.
"I don't even know what to say to you."
