Chapter 9 - The Eviction & The Trap
January 15th arrived under an overcast, iron-grey sky.
At 10:00 AM, a sleek black Mercedes sedan pulled into the parking lot of *Summit Commercial Lending*, an upscale private equity brokerage located in the city’s financial district.
Travis Manion stepped out of the car. He had managed to scrape together enough cash to rent a high-end suit for the day. Beside him, Danielle wore her expensive faux-fur coat and oversized designer sunglasses, attempting to project the aura of a wealthy corporate executive.
They believed this was the day.
Gregory Morris had called Travis the previous afternoon, adhering strictly to the script provided to him by the state prosecutor’s office. Morris had informed Travis that Summit Commercial Lending had approved the emergency bridge loan, that the funds were ready for immediate escrow disbursement into the Apex Horizons account, and that the managing partners simply needed to execute the final wet-ink signatures in the lender's executive boardroom.
"Did Mother stay at the hotel?" Danielle asked nervously, adjusting her sunglasses as they walked toward the revolving glass doors.
"Yes," Travis said, wiping sweat from his palms. "She's packing our bags. As soon as the wire confirmation hits my phone, we're driving straight to the airport. We'll be in the Caymans before Lana even realizes the bank accounts have moved."
"I can't believe we pulled it off," Danielle smirked, her confidence returning as they stepped into the heated marble lobby. "Lana thought she was so clever cutting off our credit cards. Wait until she finds out she owes two million dollars to a private equity syndicate."
"Shut up, Danielle," Travis muttered under his breath. "Don't say anything until we sign the papers."
They took the private elevator to the top floor. The receptionist smiled politely, directing them toward the corner conference suite overlooking the river.
Travis pushed open the frosted glass door, a broad, triumphant smile on his face. "Good morning, gentlemen! We're here for the Apex Horizons closing—"
The words died in his throat.
Sitting at the far end of the mahogany conference table was not a private equity loan officer.
Sitting there, flanked by Arthur Vance and two senior assistant district attorneys, was me.
And standing along the perimeter of the room were four plainclothes detectives from the State Bureau of Financial Investigation, accompanied by two uniformed officers.
Danielle let out a strangled gasp, spinning around toward the door, but two officers immediately stepped into the entryway, blocking the exit.
"Travis. Danielle," I said calmly, gesturing toward the empty chairs. "Please, have a seat. You're right on time."
Travis’s knees buckled. He grabbed the edge of the credenza to keep from falling. "Lana... what is this? What is going on?"
One of the assistant district attorneys, a sharp-featured woman named Elena Ramos, stood up, unfolding an official legal document.
"Travis Manion. Danielle Manion. I am Assistant District Attorney Ramos. As of nine o'clock this morning, a grand jury returned a twelve-count indictment against both of you, along with Sheila Manion and Gregory Morris."
"Indictment?" Danielle shrieked, clutching her brother’s arm. "For what? We haven't signed anything! You can't arrest us for a loan we didn't even take!"
"You didn't take the loan today, Ms. Manion," Arthur Vance said smoothly, picking up a folder from the table. "Because the lender was a cooperating party in an active sting operation. However, the four counts of grand larceny, seven counts of identity theft, and three counts of unlawful conversion of a minor’s trust funds were already completed between March and November of last year."
"The trust fund..." Travis whispered, his eyes darting frantically around the room, looking for an escape route that didn't exist.
"Forty-two thousand dollars systematically siphoned from Harper Collins's custodial account," Ramos stated. "Deposited directly into your personal account, Ms. Manion, to cover your luxury vehicle lease and residential rent. In addition, we have the signed confession and digital records provided by your co-conspirator, Gregory Morris, detailing the systematic forgery of Mrs. Manion’s signature on the commercial lien instruments."
"No... no, no, no," Danielle wailed, dropping to the carpet, covering her face. "Travis made me do it! It was Travis’s idea! He told me Lana had more money than she knew what to do with! He said she wouldn't even notice fifty thousand dollars gone!"
"Shut up, Danielle!" Travis screamed, his composure shattering entirely. He lunged across the table toward me, his face twisted in feral, animalistic rage. "You set us up! You destroyed my family! I gave you six years of my life! You were nothing before you met me! Just a pathetic, lonely widow crying over her dead husband!"
Before Travis could clear the table, the two detectives seized him, slamming him face-down onto the mahogany surface with a concussive *thud*.
"Hands behind your back! Now!"
The metallic *click* of handcuffs ratchet-tightening echoed through the room.
Travis thrashed, his cheek pressed flat against the polished wood, his eyes bulging as he stared at me. "Lana! You can't do this! I'm your husband! We took vows before God!"
I stood up slowly, walked around the table, and stopped just inches from his face.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small velvet pouch, and poured its contents onto the table right beside his nose.
It was my platinum wedding band, along with the two-carat diamond ring he had purchased on a credit card that I had ended up paying off four years ago.
"The marriage is over, Travis," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but carry enough weight to fill the entire room. "Our divorce was granted under emergency decree at eight-fifteen this morning. You are no longer my husband. You are merely a convicted felon awaiting trial."
The officers hauled Travis to his feet. He was sobbing now, snot and tears smearing across his face, his expensive rental suit torn at the shoulder seam.
Beside him, two female officers placed handcuffs on Danielle, who was crying so hard she could barely stand.
As they were marched toward the private service elevators, the doors opened, and another team of officers stepped out. Between them, in handcuffs, was Sheila Manion. She had been arrested thirty minutes earlier at their suburban motel.
The three Manions looked at each other in the corridor—a ruined, disgraced triumvirate, stripped of their illusions, their stolen wealth, and their freedom.
May you like
I didn't watch them get into the elevator. I turned my back, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the frozen river below, breathing in the quiet, absolute peace of the morning.
***
