Chapter 4 - The Visit from the Fixer
Arthur Sloan looked twenty years older than he had at my wedding reception.
The seventy-year-old senior partner of Sloan & Associates—the premiere legal fixer for Chicago’s old-money elite—walked into my office with a heavy, shuffling gait. He carried his leather briefcase like a lead weight, his shoulders slumped beneath his expensive wool overcoat.
He didn't sit down immediately. He stood by the glass wall, looking out over the skyline, before turning to face me.
“Claire,” Arthur began, his voice dry and raspy. “I’ve known you since you were twelve years old. I watched you graduate top of your class at Harvard Law. I attended your wedding three days ago.”
“And three days ago, you watched Victor Mercer order his son to hit me, Arthur,” I reminded him, my voice completely devoid of warmth. “Did you miss that part, or were you too busy admiring the crystal centerpieces?”
Arthur flinched, looking away. He pulled out the chair opposite my desk and sat down slowly, resting his hands on the leather armrests. “Victor is a dinosaur, Claire. He operates by rules that expired twenty years ago. But Adrian... Adrian is a good man. He was caught in the middle of his father’s tyranny.”
“Adrian watched his father order an assault on his wife and told me to apologize,” I said, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “Don't talk to me about good men, Arthur. If Adrian were a good man, he wouldn't have needed me to teach him how to stand up to a bully.”
Arthur sighed, opening his briefcase and pulling out a thick manila envelope. He slid it across the desk. “Victor is willing to offer terms. A clean divorce. A lump-sum settlement of five million dollars, tax-free. No public litigation. No scandal. In exchange, you hand over the audit files to our firm and sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
I didn't even look at the envelope. I picked up my pen and began tapping it lightly against the desk.
“Five million dollars,” I murmured, tasting the irony of the number. “That’s about ten percent of what Victor stole from the municipal transit fund alone. Does he really think I can be bought off with pocket change?”
“Claire, be reasonable,” Arthur pleaded, leaning forward. “If you go to war with the Mercers, they will drag your name through the mud. They’ll hire public relations firms to paint you as a gold-digger who married into wealth just to orchestrate a corporate raid.”
“Let them try,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips. “Public relations firms require money to operate, Arthur. And as of eight-forty-five this morning, the federal government has seized every liquid asset, corporate account, and personal trust belonging to Victor and Adrian Mercer.”
Arthur’s face turned the color of ash. He gripped the edge of the desk, his eyes wide with horror. “You… you already executed the freeze?”
“Marcus filed the injunctions with Judge Harrison before dawn,” I said, standing up and walking over to the window. “The Mercer empire isn't just in trouble, Arthur. It’s insolvent. By tomorrow afternoon, the board will be voting to strip Adrian of his executive title, and the bank will be foreclosing on their lake house.”
Arthur stared at me in absolute, paralyzing disbelief. He had spent forty years believing that old money and family names were an impenetrable shield against the real world. He was finally learning that a shield made of glass shatters the moment someone throws a real stone.
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“You’re destroying them,” Arthur whispered.
“No, Arthur,” I corrected, turning back to face him with absolute calm. “I’m just balancing the ledger. Tell Victor and Adrian that if they want to speak with me, they can do it through the federal bankruptcy trustee. This meeting is over.”
