Chapter 6 - Blood and Paperwork
The holding cells of the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse smelled of bleach, stale sweat, and despair.
Adrian sat on the rusted iron bench, his head in his hands. His charcoal suit was crumpled, his Italian shoes scuffed, his tie confiscated along with his belt, watch, and phone.
For eight hours, he had waited for his personal lawyer, Harold Vance (no relation, a fact Harold had emphasized with terrifying coldness before hanging up on Adrian’s single phone call). Harold had refused to take the case, citing an insurmountable conflict of interest—namely, that Harold’s entire firm was on an annual retainer with Julian Vance’s holding company.
Every door Adrian tried to push open hit a brick wall engraved with the same name: *Vance.*
At 4:00 PM, the heavy iron door of the interview room creaked open.
Adrian scrambled to his feet, hope flaring in his chest. “Elena? Did she drop the charges?”
It wasn't Elena.
Marcus Vance walked in, carrying a thin manila folder. He didn't sit down. He stood across the metal table, looking at Adrian the way an entomologist looks at a particularly distasteful specimen pinned to corkboard.
“Sit down, Adrian,” Marcus said.
Adrian sank back onto the metal bench, his voice trembling. “Marcus… Judge Vance… please. This is a misunderstanding. The Cayman accounts—that was tax planning! Every major foundation does it! I was protecting the assets from inflation!”
Marcus opened the folder and placed three sheets of paper on the table.
“This is an emergency divorce petition,” Marcus said, his voice entirely clinical. “Under the terms of your prenuptial agreement, my sister is dissolving your marriage on grounds of felony criminal conduct and irreconcilable cruelty. You will sign it now.”
Adrian looked at the papers. “And if I don't? I have rights! We have community property! The Park Avenue penthouse was purchased during our marriage!”
Marcus leaned forward, resting both hands on the table. When he spoke, the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
“The Park Avenue penthouse was purchased with funds advanced by Julian’s capital fund through a subordinated promissory note,” Marcus said. “You have defaulted on that note. The foreclosure papers were filed at noon. By six o'clock tonight, the sheriff’s department will be removing your personal effects from the premises and depositing them in three cardboard boxes on the sidewalk.”
“You can't do that!” Adrian gasped.
“I am a federal judge, Adrian. I know precisely what can and cannot be done under the laws of this state,” Marcus continued. “If you sign these papers, Elena has agreed not to submit the forensic audit of your secondary offshore accounts to the Southern District’s public corruption task force. That means you face three to five years for corporate embezzlement instead of twenty-five years for federal wire fraud and tax evasion.”
Marcus tapped a gold pen against the table.
“You sign, you plead guilty to a single count of second-degree grand larceny, you serve eighteen months in a minimum-security facility in upstate New York, and you walk out with the clothes on your back and your life.”
Adrian looked at the pen. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. “And Elena? What does she get?”
“Elena gets her life back,” Marcus said. “She gets the foundation, which will be renamed the Vance Memorial Institute for Women’s Advocacy. She gets the Madison Avenue building. She gets every penny you stole, returned with interest. And most importantly, she gets to forget that a parasitic little social climber named Adrian Vale ever existed.”
Adrian’s face twisted in bitter, helpless rage. “She played me. The whole time. She knew who she was, and she played the docile little housemaker while I worked myself to the bone!”
Marcus didn't blink. “She loved you, Adrian. When she married you, she begged Julian and me not to interfere. She wanted to build something with you. She thought your ambition was passion. She thought your charisma was strength. She spent eight years protecting you from us.”
Marcus straightened his posture, buttoning his jacket.
“You didn't realize that the only thing keeping the wolves from tearing you apart was the woman you slapped in front of two hundred people.”
May you like
Adrian stared at the papers. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead like a dying insect. Slowly, agonizingly, his trembling hand reached out and picked up the gold pen.
***
