Chapter 4 - The Process Servers Arrive
Two sleek, midnight-blue sedan vehicles turned off the main suburban road and rolled slowly up the driveway, crunching gravel beneath their tires before parking directly behind Nathan’s silver sedan, effectively blocking his only exit route.
The back doors opened, and two men stepped out. They weren't police officers, but they wore charcoal-gray tailored suits, carried thick leather briefcases, and moved with the absolute, unyielding authority of federal judges.
Nathan’s head snapped toward the driveway. The color drained entirely from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost in the Ohio sunlight.
“Who the hell is that?” Nathan muttered, taking a half-step backward.
“Oh, don't worry, darling,” I said sweetly, adjusting my sunglasses. “I think those are just some very dedicated postal workers.”
The two men marched across the grass, bypassing the lingering clusters of relatives, and walked straight toward the deck where Nathan and I stood. The taller of the two—a man with sharp silver hair and cold blue eyes—pulled a laminated card from his breast pocket.
“Nathaniel James Collins?” the man asked, his voice ringing across the quiet yard.
Nathan stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing silently. “I... yes? Who are you?”
“My name is Marcus Vance, senior investigator with Vance & Sterling legal recovery division,” the man stated clearly. “Mr. Collins, you are hereby served with an emergency federal asset-freeze injunction, a corporate restraining order, and a civil summons for forgery, wire fraud, and grand larceny regarding the unauthorized transfer of corporate assets from Collins Marketing Agency.”
The backyard went dead silent. The crickets in the grass suddenly sounded deafening.
Nathan let out a strangled, high-pitched gasp. “What?! Fraud?! Forgery?! That’s insane! My wife and I signed a legal post-nuptial agreement! She agreed to everything!”
“Actually, Mr. Collins,” Marcus Vance replied smoothly, pulling a thick stack of legal papers from his briefcase and slapping them directly into Nathan’s trembling hands, “that post-nuptial agreement was submitted using a forged electronic signature that our forensic handwriting analysts traced directly to an IP address registered to your private corporate office computer, executed at 2:14 AM on a Tuesday while Mrs. Collins was out of state.”
Nathan stumbled backward, colliding heavily with the patio table, sending a bowl of potato salad crashing onto the grass. “That’s... that’s a lie! Prove it!”
“We already have,” Marcus said, pulling out a second set of documents. “Furthermore, our forensic audit team has discovered that over the past six months, you systematically funneled four hundred and fifty thousand dollars of corporate operating capital into a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands under the alias Apex Brand Solutions—a corporation where the sole secondary beneficiary is listed as Brittany Vale.”
Brittany’s lemonade cup slipped from her fingers, shattering against the concrete patio, the yellow liquid splashing across her sandals. She spun around to face Nathan, her eyes wide with sudden, unadulterated horror.
“Nathan?” Brittany shrieked, her voice cracking. “What is he talking about?! What Cayman Islands account?! You told me your divorce was already settled and your assets were clean!”
Nathan turned an alarming shade of purple, sweating profusely under his collar. “Brittany, shut up, don't listen to him, he’s lying—!”
“She’s not lying, Mr. Collins,” Marcus interrupted, turning to address my entire extended family, who were now watching the drama unfold with wide, open mouths. “Furthermore, because Mr. Collins attempted to fraudulently divest marital property and evade federal tax liabilities using forged legal instruments, the court has exercised its right to seize all corporate accounts, freeze his personal credit cards, and repossess his primary vehicle as collateral.”
As if on cue, a flatbed tow truck rolled quietly up the driveway, its amber hazard lights flashing, stopping right behind Nathan’s silver sedan.
Nathan looked at the tow truck, looked at the federal process servers, looked at Brittany hyperventilating beside him, and finally turned his wide, bloodshot eyes toward me.
“Mara...” Nathan choked out, his voice cracking with pathetic desperation as he reached out a trembling hand. “Mara, please... call them off! We can talk about this! We can fix our marriage! Please don't do this to me!”
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I slowly lowered my designer sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, looking at the man who had tried to economically assassinate me while wearing another woman’s name on her chest.
“Don't make this weird, Nathan,” I said softly.
