Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
The twenty-four hours following the Philanthropy Gala were a masterclass in institutional collapse.
By sunrise on Friday, the local papers and national business journals were running the story on their front pages.
*“SCION OF PIERCE LOGISTICS ARRESTED AT ANNUAL GALA FOR MILLION-DOLLAR FRAUD.”*
*“PIERCE DYNASTY CRUMBLES UNDER WEIGHT OF EMBEZZLEMENT AND FORGERY CHARGES.”*
The viral nature of the public arrest was catastrophic. Videos taken from the ballroom had accumulated over twelve million views on social media by noon. The clip of Brooke Landon screaming as her designer purse fell to the hotel floor, spilling jewelry and corporate credit cards, was the top trending topic in the state.
I spent Friday morning in Julia Ward’s conference room, drinking tea while the phone lines lit up like a switchboard.
"Marcus Reed—the notary—has already folded," Julia reported, setting down her tablet with a look of predatory satisfaction. "The moment the AG showed him the handwriting analysis on the Savannah terminal assignment, he confessed. He admitted Nathan paid him twenty-five thousand dollars to backdate the seal and notarize your forged signature."
"And Brooke?" I asked.
"Brooke is currently in custody, attempting to negotiate immunity. She’s singing like a canary, Mara. She gave them access to Nathan’s secondary cloud accounts, which contain records of off-shore dummy corporations in the Cayman Islands. Nathan wasn't just stealing to buy her jewelry; he was planning to wire three million dollars overseas next month and abandon both you and Pierce Logistics."
I closed my eyes for a brief second.
Even knowing the depths of his deceit, the deliberate, calculated nature of it was chilling. Nathan had not drifted into an affair. He had plotted a complete corporate and financial assassination against me, all while sleeping beside me every night, eating the food I bought, and letting me comfort him when his father died.
The intercom buzzed on Julia’s desk.
"Mrs. Ward? Eleanor Pierce is in the lobby. She doesn't have an appointment, but she refuses to leave. The security guard says she is... highly agitated."
Julia glanced at me. "Should I have her removed?"
"No," I said. "Send her in. It’s time to close the account."
When Eleanor walked through the doors, she was unrecognizable from the woman who had smirked at me across the wedding table forty-eight hours ago.
Her hair was unbrushed, escaping its pins in wild gray wisps. She wore no makeup, revealing the deep, bitter lines carved around her mouth. She had forgotten her gloves, and her coat was missing two buttons. The great Eleanor Pierce looked like a woman who had survived a shipwreck, only to realize she had landed on an island of wolves.
She stopped in the center of the office. She didn't shout. She didn't threaten.
She fell to her knees.
The sound of her knees hitting the plush carpet was dull and heavy. She reached out, her trembling hands clasped in front of her chest, looking up at me behind the mahogany table.
"Mara," she choked out, her voice cracked and raw. "They set Nathan’s bail at two million dollars cash. The judge deemed him a flight risk because of the Cayman accounts. The banks have frozen my personal accounts. I don't have enough to pay the bondsman. They have him in a holding cell with... with common criminals."
"He is a common criminal, Eleanor," I said, remaining seated. "In fact, he is an uncommon criminal. Most thieves don't steal from the woman who saved their home from foreclosure."
"Please," she sobbed, tears spilling down her aged cheeks, dropping onto the carpet. "Take the house. Take Oakridge. Take everything my family owns. Just post the bail. Let my boy come home while the lawyers fight this. He won't survive in there, Mara! He’s fragile!"
"He wasn't too fragile to seat Brooke Landon beside me," I said, my voice ringing clear and pitiless. "He wasn't too fragile to forge my dead father’s name on a title deed. He wasn't too fragile to rob the firm blind while his sister’s wedding was funded with stolen money."
"I made him do it!" Eleanor cried, bowing her head until her forehead touched the floor. "It was me! I hated you! I hated that my husband left us penniless! I hated that a girl from the docks owned our names! Nathan loved you once! I poisoned him against you! Punish me! Put me in prison, but please... spare my son!"
I leaned forward, looking down at the broken matriarch.
"You didn't poison Nathan, Eleanor," I said softly. "You just nurtured what was already there. Nathan was a coward. He wanted the prestige of an empire without the burden of building one. He wanted my wealth, your pedigree, and Brooke’s youth, all without paying the price for any of it."
I stood up and walked around the desk, standing over her.
"I will not post his bail," I stated. "I will not drop the civil charges. And by five o'clock today, Julia will file the eviction notice for the Oakridge estate. You have seventy-two hours to pack your clothes. Anything bearing the Pierce crest that was purchased after 1990 belongs to the creditor trust."
Eleanor let out a long, keening wail, a sound of total, irrevocable defeat.
"Where will I go?" she wept into the carpet. "Where am I supposed to live?"
"Sophie has offered you the guest cottage on the Montgomery country property," I said. "It is forty miles from the city. There are no country clubs, Eleanor. There are no gala committees. There is only a small garden and a kitchen where you can learn to cook your own meals for the first time in your life. Be grateful Sophie is more forgiving than I am."
I nodded to the security guard standing by the door.
May you like
"Help Mrs. Pierce to a taxi," I said. "Her business here is finished."
***
