Chapter 8 - The Fall of Sterling
While the CPS report was being finalized, the trap Dominic had laid for Richard and Eleanor Sterling was snapping shut with mathematical precision.
Richard Sterling had believed that partnering with Lucian Rossi would solve his financial insolvencies. Instead, with Rossi locked in federal custody and his illegal operations seized, the bridge loans Sterling had guaranteed defaulted instantly.
On Thursday morning, the New York State Department of Financial Services, flanked by agents from the Securities and Exchange Commission, marched into the Midtown Manhattan headquarters of Sterling Capital with federal search warrants.
It turned out Richard Sterling had been running a classic Ponzi operation for five years, covering private fund losses with client retirement assets. Worse still, forensic accountants discovered that Eleanor Sterling’s high-society charity—The Children’s Hope Gala—had funneled over forty percent of its gala donations directly into Richard’s personal offshore accounts to pay for their Westchester estate and luxury club memberships.
They hadn't wanted to adopt me out of sudden love or remorse after the court scene.
They had wanted to adopt me as a desperate public relations stunt.
Facing impending federal fraud charges, Richard’s defense attorneys had advised him that adopting a high-needs, disabled child from St. Jude’s would create an untouchable shield of public sympathy, making it nearly impossible for a federal judge to impose a harsh prison sentence during sentencing.
I was never a child to them. I was a get-out-of-jail-free card.
The scandal exploded across the front pages of the New York Post and the Times:
WALL STREET PHILANTHROPISTS EXPOSED: STERLING CAPITAL FRAUD EXCEEDS $40 MILLION.
CHARITY MONEY USED FOR COUNTRY CLUB DUES; ORPHAN ADOPTION WAS PR STUNT.
Dominic sat at the dining room table on Friday morning, calmly sipping his espresso while the television broadcast showed live footage of Richard Sterling being escorted out of his glass office tower in handcuffs, his expensive suit rumpled, hiding his face from the flashing cameras.
Eleanor Sterling was shown fleeing their Scarsdale residence in an oversized pair of sunglasses, pursued by federal marshals who were padlocking the front gates under a civil forfeiture seizure.
Teresa walked in, setting down a plate of warm scones. She glanced at the screen, muttering a prayer in Italian before crossing herself.
"God does not pay on Saturdays, but He always settles His debts," Teresa said.
Dominic switched off the television. "It wasn't God, Teresa. It was the SEC and three very cooperative whistleblowers in their accounting department."
"Same thing," Teresa replied with a shrug.
I wheeled myself into the dining room, holding a freshly painted card. On the front, I had painted a picture of the Bedford manor, with a big oak tree in the front yard. Standing beneath the tree were two figures: a little girl in a wheelchair and a tall man with black tattoos on his arms, holding hands.
I set the card next to Dominic’s coffee cup.
He picked it up, running his thumb over the rough watercolor paper. At the bottom, in my neat, six-year-old handwriting, it read:
To Dad. Thank you for choosing me.
May you like
Dominic didn't say anything for a long time. He pulled me into his lap, wrapping his strong arms around me, burying his face in my hair. His chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths.
"I didn't choose you, Lily," he whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You saved me."
