Chapter 5 - Freefall
The District Attorney’s investigators spent two hours cataloging documents inside the executive suites. While Camden was sequestered in a glass conference room with his rapidly sweating attorney, I walked through the quiet corridors of Alden Tower.
In the corporate world, news travels faster than light. By four in the afternoon, the press release that had heralded Camden’s triumphant merger was scrubbed from the wire services. In its place ran an ominous one-paragraph update:
METROPOLITAN HEALTH FOUNDATION RESCINDS LOGISTICS PARTNERSHIP; CITES COMPLIANCE REVIEW.
I returned to my office to find Nora waiting with a courier envelope bearing the gold-foil crest of the Carlyle Hotel.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Delivered by private messenger twenty minutes ago,” Nora said. “Addressed specifically to you.”
I broke the wax seal. Inside was a single sheet of heavy ivory stationery.
Vivian,
We need to speak. Woman to woman. I have information about Camden that you do not have—information that will protect your family's assets from total seizure. Meet me at the Carlyle lounge at six o’clock. Come alone, or I take this to the press.
—Lila
I looked at the handwriting—sharp, slanted, desperate.
“She thinks she has leverage,” Nora observed, looking over my shoulder.
“No,” I replied, tossing the note onto the blotter. “She realizes she is listed as the sole managing director of Vanguard Horizon Media. When the DA traces that four-million-dollar wire from our fuel reserve, she is the one whose name is on the tax returns. Camden set her up as his financial fall guy, and she just figured it out.”
“Are you going to meet her?”
“Of course I am,” I said. “Nora, call David Keller. Have him coordinate with the hotel’s security director. I want a private corner booth in the gallery, and I want an audio recorder running on the house system.”
At five-forty-five, I arrived at the Carlyle. The dimly lit lounge was populated by upper-crust Manhattanites sipping martinis beneath the Bemelmans murals.
Lila was already seated in a secluded banquette near the rear. She had discarded the corporate navy dress, replacing it with an oversized black turtleneck and dark sunglasses, looking around nervously every time a waiter passed.
I slid into the booth across from her. I didn't order a drink.
Lila pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her makeup hastily applied. The arrogant girl who had asked if I was there to carry her bags at Teterboro had completely vanished.
“You destroyed everything,” Lila hissed, leaning across the small table. “In twenty-four hours, you ruined Camden’s reputation, my influencer agency, and our entire expansion plan!”
“You wore my anniversary scarf off my private jet, Lila,” I said evenly. “Did you really think I was going to offer you a corporate sponsorship?”
Lila’s jaw tightened. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a thumb drive, slamming it down on the table between us.
“Camden didn't just wire four million dollars to Vanguard Horizon,” she whispered, her voice shaking with malice and fear. “He used that money to purchase residential real estate in the Cayman Islands under a dual-signatory trust. But here’s the part you don't know: he didn't do it alone. He had help from inside your own boardroom.”
My pulse remained steady, but my eyes narrowed slightly. “Go on.”
“Walter Vance,” Lila said, leaning closer, her eyes flashing with desperate triumph. “Your loyal, trusted family accountant. Who do you think helped Camden create the synthetic offshore ledger? Who do you think signed off on the fuel hedging discrepancies for seven straight months? Camden promised Walter a ten-percent equity stake in Pierce Enterprises once they took your fleet private.”
The revelation struck like a muffled blow to the chest. Walter Vance had been at my father’s bedside when he passed away. Walter had handed me my first corporate seal when I turned twenty-five.
“Why are you giving this to me?” I asked, keeping my voice utterly devoid of emotion.
“Because Camden locked me out of the Vanguard accounts thirty minutes ago!” she cried, her voice cracking as several patrons at nearby tables turned to look. She lowered her tone, tears welling in her eyes. “He changed the security codes. He’s liquidating the offshore balances right now through a private brokerage in Zurich. He’s going to leave the country, Vivian! He’s going to take that money, jump on a commercial flight to Brazil, and leave me holding the bag for tax fraud!”
I looked down at the thumb drive.
“If this drive contains proof of Walter’s involvement and the Zurich account routing numbers,” I said, “I will instruct my legal team not to name you as an intentional co-conspirator in our civil filing. You will still have to deal with the IRS for the income you claimed, but you won’t go to federal prison for corporate embezzlement.”
Lila let out a ragged breath, slumping back against the leather seat. “Take it. Just keep me out of the headlines.”
I picked up the thumb drive, dropped it into my purse, and stood up.
“One more thing, Lila,” I said, looking down at her.
“What?”
“The white boots with the camel coat,” I murmured. “It was dreadfully tacky. Even for a mistress.”
I turned and walked out of the lounge, leaving her sitting alone in the shadows of the Carlyle.
Outside on Madison Avenue, the autumn air was biting. David Keller was waiting by the town car, holding the door open.
“Mrs. Pierce,” David said. “We have an issue at the hangar.”
May you like
“What happened?”
“Mark Davies called from Teterboro five minutes ago,” David said grimly. “Camden showed up at Hangar 4 with a private charter pilot and an armed escort from a private security firm. He’s attempting to access N719AM.”
