Chapter 8 - The Severing of Vanessa
Vanessa Thorpe was trying to crawl away.
She had slipped off her high heels and was attempting to skirt the perimeter of the ballroom, keeping close to the gold-draped columns, her eyes darting toward the service exits.
"Ms. Thorpe," my voice rang out across the speakers, halting her dead in her tracks.
Vanessa froze. Slowly, she turned back toward the stage, her face twisted in a mixture of terror and venomous spite.
"I had nothing to do with his company!" Vanessa screamed, her voice cracking as the camera spotlights pinned her against a gilded pillar. "I’m just his girlfriend! He gave me those gifts! A man is allowed to buy gifts for the woman he loves! You’re just a bitter, jealous, discarded ex-wife who can't keep her man in bed!"
A ripple of uncomfortable murmurs passed through the high-society crowd at her crass outburst.
"The law does not recognize the concept of romantic gifts when the funds used are the proceeds of institutional wire fraud," I said calmly.
From the southern entrance of the ballroom, three special agents wearing windbreakers with gold lettering stepped into the light: *FBI – FINANCIAL CRIMES DIVISION.*
Beside them walked an assistant United States Attorney for the Southern District of Florida.
"Vanessa Thorpe," the lead agent said, holding up a federal warrant. "Under an indictment unsealed twenty minutes ago by the Grand Jury, you are charged with twelve counts of wire fraud, conspiracy to commit securities fraud, and interstate transportation of stolen property."
"What?" Vanessa shrieked, backing away until her spine hit the marble wall. "No! Preston! Tell them! Tell them you gave it to me!"
Preston didn't move. He stood slumped against Table One, completely catatonic, staring at the floor as his entire reality dissolved around him.
"Furthermore," the federal agent continued, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt, "we have an immediate seizure order for all assets purchased with illicit funds. Including the vehicle parked outside, your Sunny Isles condominium, and the jewelry currently on your person."
Two female federal agents stepped forward. With swift, professional precision, one of them reached behind Vanessa’s neck and unclasped the eighty-five-thousand-dollar Burmese sapphire necklace.
"Don't touch me! Get your hands off me! That’s mine! Preston bought that for me!" Vanessa howled, thrashing violently as the cold steel handcuffs clicked around her wrists.
Her mascara was running in thick black rivers down her cheeks; her expensive gold dress tore slightly at the seam as she was turned around and marched toward the exit before the flashing cameras of the international press.
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Every billionaire, every diplomat, and every socialite in Miami watched in absolute silence as Preston Vance’s prized mistress was dragged out of the grandest ballroom in the state like a common shoplifter.
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