Chapter 3 - The Audit and the Ambush
By seven in the morning, the sun was rising over the Charles River, casting a pale, washed-out amber glow through the windows of Arthur Vance’s office on the twenty-fourth floor of the International Place tower.
Arthur Vance was seventy-two, had gone to Harvard Law with my father, and was the sole reason the firm was named Mercer, *Vance* & Finch. He sat behind an enormous desk of polished rosewood, looking at the photocopied evidence sheets Detective Miller had released to us under protective seal.
His hands were trembling.
“Thomas would have dismantled him with an axe,” Vance said, his voice trembling with an old man's controlled fury. He looked at me, taking in the high-necked cashmere sweater I had borrowed from my mother to conceal the bruising running up to my jaw. “Clara, my dear… I have no words. None.”
“I don’t need words, Arthur,” I said, sitting upright in the leather wingback chair. “I need the signature cards. I need every account, every proxy, and every single trust ledger associated with Carter Holdings pulled from the Mercer servers within the hour.”
“It’s already underway,” Vance said, tapping a red folder on his blotter. “At six-fifteen this morning, I invoked Section 14 of the partnership agreement. In the event of a criminal investigation involving a senior partner, any founding partner has the unilateral authority to quarantine firm accounts and sever joint representation.”
“What about the police?” my mother asked. “Richard was trying to get a district judge to sign an arrest warrant for you three hours ago.”
“Judge Connolly laughed him out of the lobby,” Vance said with grim satisfaction. “Sarah Miller sent the preliminary crime scene photographs directly to the duty magistrate at 3:00 a.m. The pen-pressure analysis on that vellum shows Daniel’s weight was bearing down across your chest while your hand was forced across the paper. The state police have already classified it as Felony Coercion Under Duress, Assault with Intent to Commit Extortion, and Domestic Strangulation.”
“And Daniel?” I asked.
“He’s out of surgery. Two titanium pins in his leg. He’s under guard at Mount Auburn. When he’s discharged, he won't be going home to the townhouse on Beacon Hill. He’ll be arraigned in Cambridge District Court.”
Vance sighed, pulling off his gold-rimmed glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But you need to be prepared, Clara. Richard Mercer is not a man who surrenders. He is a wounded predator backed into a corner of his own making. He’s already retained Marcus Sterling.”
I felt a chill run through the room. Marcus Sterling was the most notorious crisis litigator in New England. He was the man corrupt pharmaceutical executives, predatory hedge fund managers, and dirty politicians called when they needed to turn a victim into a villain on the six o’clock news.
“Sterling has already called a press conference for eleven o’clock on the courthouse steps,” Vance warned. “He’s running a counter-offensive. He’s going to frame Evelyn as a domineering, violent matriarch who couldn't stomach her daughter gaining independence, who flew into a violent rage when Daniel presented a standard, mutually agreed-upon prenuptial financial consolidation.”
“Let him,” my mother said, her voice like flint.
“Evelyn, you don’t understand the modern media ecosystem,” Vance pleaded. “Sterling doesn't care about winning in court right now. He wants to win in the press to force the district attorney into offering a deferred prosecution agreement to Daniel. He wants to drag Clara’s name through the mud until Carter Logistics’ clients get nervous and start pulling their freight contracts.”
“He can try,” I said, standing up. The room spun for a second from the lingering concussion, but I caught myself against the edge of the desk. “Arthur, can you access Daniel’s firm computer?”
Vance paused, looking up at me. “Technically, as managing partner during a fraud audit, yes. Why?”
“Because Daniel didn't invent this scheme overnight,” I said. “Three weeks ago, he asked me for the original incorporation papers of Carter Logistics, claiming he wanted to frame them for my wedding gift. He spent four days working late at the firm. Daniel is meticulous, but he’s also arrogant. He saves drafts. He saves revisions. And he never empties his cloud cache.”
May you like
A faint smile touched Arthur Vance’s lips. He pulled his keyboard toward him. “Let’s see what young Mr. Mercer left behind before he tried to steal an empire.”
***
