Chapter 29 - THE AUCTION OF BETRAYAL
While dawn broke over the sodden hills of upstate New York, forty miles away in the county holding facility, Eleanor Vance was having an entirely different awakening.
She sat in an orange jumpsuit across the glass partition from her state-appointed defense lawyer, her face pale, sunken, and stripped of the immaculate foundation and pearl earrings she had worn to Easter dinner. Her fingers, usually manicured to perfection, were bitten down to the quick.
"What do you mean they aren't posting bail?" she hissed, pressing her face against the scratched polycarbonate screen. "I gave you the names! Christian Vane’s associates promised David’s death would settle the Elm Street ledger! Tell them Alex liquidated the vault! Tell them the money is sitting in his accounts!"
The young public defender looked down at his notes with utter disgust. "Mrs. Vance, nobody is coming for you. The phone numbers you provided trace to burner relays that were disconnected at midnight. Furthermore, the district attorney has just filed thirty additional counts of conspiracy, wire fraud, and falsification of public death records."
Eleanor’s mouth opened and closed like a dying carp. "They promised me..."
"No one is making deals with you," the attorney interrupted coldly. "And outside the courthouse, your children are causing an absolute spectacle."
On the marble steps outside the municipal building, Chloe and Julian were facing their own personal ruin. Deprived of the Vance allowance, their luxury vehicles repossessed two days prior, Chloe stood shivering in an oversized trench coat while an aggressive cluster of local reporters and camera crews shoved microphones into her face.
"Julian! Did you know about the Swiss shell companies?" a reporter shouted. "Is it true your mother forged David Vance's power of attorney for thirty years?"
Julian, looking disheveled with dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes, shoved a camera out of his path. "Get that out of my face! Alex set us up! He stole our inheritance! That money belonged to our father!"
"David Vance wasn't your biological father, Julian!" another voice yelled from the press pack. "The coroner's DNA comparative exhibits were entered into public record an hour ago! Do you have a comment on the foreclosure of your Manhattan penthouse?"
Julian froze, the color draining entirely from his skin. He looked at Chloe, who had already dropped onto the bottom step, burying her face in her hands as silent, humiliated sobs racked her body. The illusion was gone. The fake prestige, the condescending smirks over roast lamb at Easter dinner, the cruel barbs about my modest salary—all of it had been bought on credit, paid for with blood money that had never belonged to them.
Two unmarked black sedans pulled up to the curb. Four plainclothes investigators from the State Attorney General’s Special Crimes Bureau stepped out, flashing gold badges.
"Julian Vance? Chloe Vance?" the lead investigator asked.
Julian swallowed hard, his bravado instantly evaporating. "Yes?"
"You're both being served with federal grand jury subpoenas regarding interstate wire fraud and conspiracy to conceal trust assets. Put your hands behind your backs."
As the handcuffs clicked shut around Julian’s wrists in front of dozens of flashing cameras, he looked past the crowd, his eyes desperately searching the avenue as if hoping I would appear in a limousine to bail him out like I used to.
May you like
I wasn't there. I was already thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic.
***
