Chapter 9 - Dismantling the Empire
“This,” I said, looking down at Emily as she scrambled on her hands and knees among the broken glass, “is the reality of the Sterling dynasty. You didn't marry me because you loved me, Emily. You married me because you thought you could buy a guard dog. You thought you could erase where I came from, rewrite my history, and dispose of my family like trash in a ditch.”
“Daniel, please!” Emily wailed, tears carving black channels of mascara through her foundation, the room watching her completely unraveled, stripped of every ounce of elegance. “It wasn't supposed to happen like that! He was just supposed to keep her away until the pictures were over! I did it for us! For our image!”
“There is no *us*,” I said clearly.
I reached down, pulled the platinum wedding band from my left finger, and dropped it onto the floor in front of her face. It hit the wood with a dull, hollow ping and rolled into a puddle of spilled champagne.
“The marriage license has not been signed by the officiating clerk,” I announced to the entire room. “It was scheduled to be countersigned at midnight. It never will be. The ceremony was a nullity based on material fraud, criminal conspiracy, and physical coercion.”
Richard Sterling lunged toward the stage, his fists clenched, his composure entirely shattered. “I will destroy you, Vance! Do you hear me? I will bury you in litigation! I will have the state bar revoke your license by tomorrow morning! You will starve in the street!”
Before he could reach the bottom step, two uniformed state troopers stepped directly in front of him, followed by Marcus Kane.
“Mr. Richard Sterling?” Marcus asked, pulling a folded white document from his breast pocket.
Richard stopped, panting, his eyes wild. “Who the hell are you? Get out of my way!”
“I’m Marcus Kane, Special Assistant Attorney General,” Marcus said smoothly, unfolding the paper. “This is a search and seizure warrant for the offices of Sterling & Croft, as well as the personal residences of Richard and Vanessa Sterling. We’ve been tracking your shell corporations in the Blackwood development project for fourteen months, Richard. We were just waiting for a financial link that connected your personal offshore accounts to the domestic logistics accounts you use for off-the-books payments.”
Richard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The color completely drained from his face, leaving him looking like an old, frail man whose empire of cards had just caught a sudden gust of wind.
“And Gary Vance—your daughter’s little hired gun?” Marcus continued, leaning in slightly. “He was paid from an account tied directly to your development fund. That pierces your corporate veil, Richard. The grand jury is already convened. Troopers, please escort Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling, and their daughter to the downtown precinct for questioning regarding felony kidnapping and financial conspiracy.”
The silence in the grand ballroom was broken only by the sharp, metallic snap of handcuffs.
Guests were already scrambling for their coats, senators and judges ducking their heads, covering their faces as several local journalists—tipped off by Marcus twenty minutes earlier—pushed through the lobby doors with flashing cameras.
Emily began to scream as a female trooper pulled her to her feet, her ripped dress trailing in the dirt, her perfect hair matted with sweat and spilled wine. “Dad! Do something! Daniel, tell them to stop! Daniel!”
I turned my back on them.
May you like
I walked down the steps of the stage, past the frozen, terrified guests, past the overturned chairs and the abandoned champagne flutes, heading straight toward the private bridal suite where the only person who truly mattered was waiting.
***
