Chapter 6 - Stripped Clean
The darkness atop the tower seemed to swallow whatever remaining sanity Nathan possessed. He stared out the window with hollow, unblinking eyes, his mouth hanging slack.
Arthur Whitmore turned his attention to Vanessa, who was cowering near the wine cellar door, trembling so violently her knees knocked together.
“Miss Hale,” Arthur said, his tone casual, as if addressing an annoying fly that had strayed into a dining room.
Vanessa dropped to her knees immediately, clasping her hands together in front of her chest in desperate supplication. “Mr. Whitmore, please! I beg of you! I was manipulated! Nathan promised me everything! He told me he was going to marry me and give me a seat on the board! I didn't know he was capable of violence! I tried to stop him!”
“You watched him break two of my daughter’s fingers,” Arthur said, his eyes turning to ice. “You told her she brought it upon herself. And you are wearing a dress bought with funds embezzled from my shipping logistics accounts.”
Arthur glanced at Director Campbell. “What is Miss Hale’s current exposure?”
Campbell adjusted his glasses and reviewed a single-page dossier. “Miss Vanessa Hale received four point two million dollars in fraudulent consulting fees through a shell entity named Apex Strategy LLC over the past eighteen months. Furthermore, she personally signed three falsified customs declarations for imported luxury goods seized at the Port of Newark last week. She is facing nine federal counts of conspiracy to commit wire fraud, money laundering, and customs violations.”
Vanessa shrieked, a sound of pure hysteria that bounced off the marble walls. “No! Nathan told me those papers were just routine tax optimizations! He told me his lawyers approved them!”
“Ignorance of the law is not an affirmative defense, Miss Hale,” Campbell replied with clinical detachment. “The United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois has already signed the arrest warrant. The federal marshals are currently in the lobby downstairs.”
Vanessa fell apart completely, sobbing into the floor, her hands tearing at her own styled hair. The glamour, the smug condescension, the cruelty she had projected twenty minutes earlier had vanished, leaving only a terrified, petty criminal awaiting handcuffs.
Arthur turned his back on her, focusing once more on Nathan.
“Campbell,” Arthur commanded. “Have the building security confiscate Mr. Cross’s personal effects. Everything he is currently wearing was purchased with funds derived from the credit lines Claire co-signed.”
Two security operators stepped forward. They pulled Nathan up by his armpits.
“Take off the watch, Nathan,” I said softly, stepping forward.
Nathan looked down at his wrist. He was wearing a Patek Philippe Grand Complications—a six-hundred-thousand-dollar timepiece he had bought himself three months ago to celebrate his supposed business triumph.
With shaking, bloody fingers, Nathan unbuckled the alligator-leather strap. His hands were trembling so violently he dropped the watch onto the counter.
“The shoes,” Campbell instructed.
Nathan swallowed hard, tears falling unchecked down his swollen face. He kicked off his custom John Lobb leather loafers.
“The jacket,” Campbell added.
Nathan stripped off his bespoke Tom Ford suit jacket, leaving him standing in his blood-stained white shirt and dress socks on the cold hardwood floor.
“You have five minutes to vacate these premises,” Arthur said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “The elevator will take you down to the service entrance in the alley. If you ever set foot within five hundred yards of my daughter again, Nathan, the criminal charges currently pending against you will be the least of your concerns. Do you understand me?”
Nathan looked at Arthur Whitmore, then at Campbell, and finally at me.
His eyes were filled with an agonizing cocktail of humiliation, hatred, and utterly overwhelming fear. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a pathetic, choked sob came out.
He nodded slowly.
“Get him out of my sight,” Arthur said.
The security guards seized Nathan by the arms and dragged him toward the private service elevator. His stockinged feet slid across the floor, leaving faint smears of blood behind.
Seconds later, two uniformed federal marshals and four Chicago police detectives stepped out of the primary elevator. They walked directly to Vanessa Hale.
“Vanessa Hale?” the lead marshal asked, displaying his badge.
Vanessa couldn't even stand. She remained curled on the floor, weeping hysterically as the female marshal pulled her arms behind her back and clicked a pair of steel handcuffs around her wrists.
“You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, tax evasion, and conspiracy,” the marshal recited flatly, hauling her to her feet.
As they dragged her past me, Vanessa looked at me with pleading, bloodshot eyes. “Claire... please... tell them I didn't mean it... Claire!”
I turned away and walked toward the living room window, refusing to grant her even a single glance.
The apartment fell into a profound, ringing silence.
May you like
My father walked over and placed a warm, steady hand on my shoulder.
“Come, Claire,” he whispered gently. “The surgeons are ready. It’s time to fix your hand and close this chapter forever.”
