Chapter 7 - The Counter-Strike
By Thursday morning, Mara had verified every single document Eleanor provided. The offshore accounts were real, holding over forty million dollars in liquid funds that Richard Vance had systematically drained from the family holding company while letting his employees face imminent layoffs.
“Your former mother-in-law is a cold-blooded pragmatist,” Mara remarked, tossing her stylus onto my desk as we reviewed the financial map in my office. “She essentially handed us the keys to Richard’s private vault. With this evidence, we can bypass bankruptcy court entirely and file an immediate federal injunction for corporate fraud and asset concealment.”
“Do it,” I said without hesitation. “Let’s execute the injunction simultaneously with Marcus Sterling’s private equity buyout. I want the Vance empire dismantled before the weekend.”
Just as Mara stood up to leave, my phone chimed with an incoming video call request from an unrecognized encrypted number. Frowning, I tapped accept. Grant’s face filled the screen. He looked terrible—unshaved, his eyes bloodshot, sitting in what looked like the back seat of a moving car.
“Claire! Please, you have to pick up my calls!” Grant shouted over the sound of highway traffic. “My dad had a stroke this morning! He’s in City General Hospital intensive care!”
I paused, my fingers hovering over the desk. “A stroke?”
“Yes! When the federal marshals served the asset freezing injunction at our estate two hours ago, he collapsed in the hallway!” Grant sobbed, the arrogant veneer completely shattered, leaving behind a terrified, pathetic boy. “The doctors say he’s stable, but he can’t talk, and the lawyers are saying we’re facing criminal fraud charges. Claire, you started all of this. You have the power to stop it. Please… we were supposed to be married!”
“Grant,” I said, my voice cutting through his hysteria like a razor blade. “Your father didn’t have a stroke because of federal marshals. He had a stroke because his own wife sold him out to me yesterday afternoon.”
Grant froze. The car engine hummed in the background. “What… what are you talking about?”
“Ask your mother about the manila envelope she brought to my penthouse,” I replied calmly. “Ask her who gave me the offshore account numbers. Your family was built on deceit, greed, and cruelty. You thought you could crush me into a wedding cake and laugh it off as a joke. You picked the wrong woman, Grant.”
“You’re a monster!” Grant shrieked, his face twisting into an ugly, hateful mask. “You’re ruining our lives over a stupid piece of cake! I hope you burn in hell, Claire!”
“Save your breath for the grand jury,” I said, and hung up the call.
Mara, who had paused by the door, gave me a slow, appreciative nod. “Well handled. The federal marshals just confirmed they’ve seized the offshore accounts. The Vance empire is officially history.”
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“Good,” I said, standing up and smoothing my jacket. “Now, let’s go prepare for the press conference. It’s time to tell the world how Northstar Capital handles corporate predators.”
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