Chapter 7 - Freezing the Assets
The executive boardroom of Vance, Sterling & Croft on Johnson Square was silent, save for the gentle ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
I sat at the center of the glass-topped table, wearing a tailored black suit that concealed the medical brace around my ribs. To my left sat Marcus Vance; to my right sat two forensic accountants and an assistant United States Attorney named Claire Jenkins.
Behind the two-way mirror on the southern wall of the room stood Detective Miller and four armed officers from the Savannah Police Department.
At precisely four-thirty, the heavy oak doors swung open.
Ryan walked in first, his chin raised, attempting to project the swagger of a high-powered CEO. Serena followed closely behind him, clutching a cheap designer knock-off purse, her eyes darting nervously around the room.
"Haley," Ryan said, walking up to the table and pulling out a leather chair without waiting for an invitation. "You look... surprisingly well for someone who spent the night in an emergency room."
"Sit down, Ryan," I said calmly. "Miss Hayes, take a seat."
Serena sat down gingerly on the edge of the leather cushion, her knuckles white.
"Let's make this quick, Vance," Ryan said, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. "I want the settlement paperwork signed, I want the dismissal of the restraining order executed, and I want the five hundred thousand cash transfer confirmed before five o'clock. Once that's done, Serena and I will be out of your hair forever."
Marcus Vance picked up a single sheet of paper and slid it across the table toward Ryan.
Ryan glanced down, expecting a standard separation agreement. His smirk vanished.
"What is this?" Ryan asked.
"That is a Mareva injunction issued ninety minutes ago by the United States District Court for the Southern District of Georgia," Marcus said, his voice ringing with cold finality. "Accompanied by an emergency mutual legal assistance treaty request executed through the British Foreign Office."
Ryan’s face twitched. "The... what?"
Assistant U.S. Attorney Claire Jenkins leaned forward, resting her credentials on the table. "Mr. Carter, Miss Hayes. At two-fifteen this afternoon, the Grand Court of the Cayman Islands froze the primary operating account of Seraphic Horizons LLC upon receipt of evidence demonstrating that the underlying collateral—the Carter Commercial Block—was encumbered through wire fraud, bank fraud, and identity theft."
Serena let out a sharp gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. "What did she say? Ryan, what did she say?!"
"Shut up!" Ryan barked, standing up, his chair screeching against the hardwood floor. "This is an ambush! Vance, you told me we were signing a civil settlement!"
"I told you Mrs. Carter was willing to discuss your proposal," Marcus Vance replied with a razor-thin smile. "I never said she agreed to it."
"You can't freeze that money!" Ryan yelled, his voice cracking with rising hysteria. "I'm the managing director of Carter Consulting! I had executive discretion over those accounts!"
"You had discretion over petty cash and authorized marketing budgets, Mr. Carter," Claire Jenkins said calmly. "Not the right to forge your wife's signature on a multi-million-dollar mortgage with a predatory lender. That is a federal crime carrying a statutory minimum of twenty years in a federal penitentiary."
"Haley!" Ryan turned to me, slamming his hands onto the glass table. "You can't do this to me! I am your husband! Everything I did, I did to build something of our own! You kept me on a leash for six years! You treated me like an employee!"
I looked up at him, my expression unmoving, feeling nothing but profound disgust.
"I gave you a life most men only dream of, Ryan," I said, my voice cutting through his shouts. "I gave you a mansion, luxury cars, an executive title, and the respect of this entire city. And when I was dying on the side of the road, begging my husband to come hold my hand in an emergency room, you told me to let the doctors do their jobs so you could honor your mistress."
"Haley, please—"
"You didn't just abandon me, Ryan," I continued, standing up slowly, ignoring the pain in my ribs. "You paid Thomas Vance five thousand dollars to put me there."
Ryan froze. The color drained from his face so completely he looked like a corpse.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, stepping backward. "I don't know any Thomas Vance."
"Thomas Vance knows you," Detective Miller's voice boomed through the room as the door beside the two-way mirror opened.
Miller stepped into the room, flanked by four uniformed officers, their hands resting on their holsters.
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"In fact, Mr. Carter," Miller said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt, "Thomas Vance described the exact color of the jacket you were wearing when you met him behind the diner on Highway 17 on Monday. And the bank cameras in Garden City captured your face in high definition while you withdrew the crisp hundred-dollar bills found in his pocket."
***
