Chapter 9 - The Fall of Richard Sterling
The federal marshals did not wait for the shareholder assembly to formally adjourn.
As the board members signed the ratification instruments on stage, the lead marshal approached Richard, who was sitting slumped against the backstage curtain, his head between his hands, weeping silently like a broken child.
“Richard Sterling,” the marshal said, producing an official warrant bearing the seal of the United States District Court. “You are under arrest for securities fraud, wire fraud, and falsification of corporate records under Title 18 of the United States Code. You have the right to remain silent.”
Richard didn't resist. He didn't scream. When the cold steel of the handcuffs clicked around his wrists for the second time in twenty-four hours, he didn't even look up.
As they led him down the private service corridor toward the waiting transport van, he saw me standing by the green room door, holding my coat.
He stopped, the marshals pausing beside him.
“Julianna,” he whispered. His voice was completely dead, devoid of anger, pride, or ambition. “You planned this. From the very beginning. You knew about Chloe. You knew about the trust. You let me walk right off the edge.”
I looked at the man I had loved for nearly a decade. I looked at the man who had promised to cherish me in front of our families, the man who had held Matthew in the delivery room, the man who had once bought Lily a tiny pink blanket that she still kept on her bed.
I looked for the brilliant, charismatic partner I had married, but there was nothing left of him. There was only the hollow shell of a man who had traded his soul for the illusion of control.
“I didn't plan your greed, Richard,” I said softly. “I didn't hire Chloe Bennett. I didn't tell you to hide forty-two million dollars in the Caymans. I didn't tell you to sign an irrevocable trust transferring our children’s legacy to a woman you barely knew, just to hurt me on the morning of our divorce.”
A single tear rolled down his cheek, cutting a clean path through the grime of sweat and makeup on his skin.
“What am I going to tell Matthew?” he choked out. “What am I going to tell my son?”
The question was so monstrously late that it didn't even cause me pain anymore.
“You won't have to tell him anything, Richard,” I answered, pulling my coat over my shoulders. “Because for the next seven years, Matthew and Lily are going to grow up in a world where your name is only a footnote in a textbook on corporate ethics. You wanted them out of your new life. Now... you finally have what you asked for.”
May you like
The marshals pulled his arm, and Richard Sterling disappeared down the gray concrete hallway, his footsteps fading into the cold, subterranean silence of the building.
***
