Chapter 6 - The Silver Cuffs
The metallic click of the steel handcuffs locking around Garrett’s wrists sounded like a gunshot in the dead silence of the Metropolitan Club ballroom.
Garrett’s jaw dropped, his face turning an instant, pasty shade of white as the federal marshal yanked his arms back. The champagne flute he had been holding slipped from his fingers, shattering into a thousand sparkling shards against the marble floor.
“There’s been a mistake!” Garrett shrieked, his voice cracking with sudden, unadulterated panic as he thrashed against the officer's grip. He looked wildly around the room, expecting his high-society allies to intervene, but the crowd of investors and tech elites immediately melted backward, terrified of being contaminated by the federal investigation. “Do you know who I am? I am the CEO of West Enterprises! This is harassment! Christopher, tell them! Tell them this is a mistake!”
Christopher Albright didn't look at him. Christopher stood frozen, the color completely drained from his face, staring down at the federal warrant extended by the second marshal. His hands began to tremble, the legal-bound document rustling loudly in his grip.
“Mr. Albright,” the lead marshal said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion as he stepped forward to secure Christopher’s wrists as well. “You are being detained under federal indictment number 88-B for conspiracy to commit industrial espionage and unauthorized asset diversion. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
“This is absurd,” Christopher hissed, trying to maintain a shred of dignity as the cold metal locked around his own wrists. He glared across the room, his eyes finally landing on me. A mask of pure, venomous hatred twisted his features. “You orchestrated this. You set this up the moment you walked through those doors.”
I didn't flinch. I slowly stepped forward, my midnight-blue silk gown sweeping the floor, stopping just inches from Christopher and my disgraced, trembling husband.
“You wanted to play a high-stakes game, Christopher,” I said, my voice dangerously soft, carrying easily through the silent, watching room. “You thought you could use Garrett’s fragile ego as a crowbar to pry open my family’s trust. But you forgot one basic rule of the corporate world: never underestimate someone who built the foundation you’re standing on.”
Garrett lunged forward, the marshals tightly gripping his shoulders to hold him back. His eyes were bloodshot, spitting fury and disbelief.
“You tricked me!” Garrett roared, spittle flying from his lips. “You watched me walk into this trap! You let me sign those papers! You’re a cold, calculating bitch, Rosalie! You ruined me!”
“You ruined yourself the moment you decided to treat a seven-year partnership like a disposable accessory, Garrett,” I replied, my gaze hardening into unyielding steel. “Enjoy your night out. I hear federal holding cells are very accommodating this time of year.”
The marshals didn't waste another second. They hauled both men backward, dragging them through the parting crowd of elites toward the heavy oak exit doors. The flashing camera bulbs of reporters stationed outside immediately flared through the glass, capturing the disgraced titan of West Enterprises hiding his face in shame.
As the doors slammed shut, sealing away the chaos, Arthur Sterling stepped up beside me, slipping his tablet back into his leather briefcase.
“Well,” Arthur said, a rare hint of approval touching the corners of his mouth. “That certainly accelerates the timeline.”
“It’s not over yet, Arthur,” I said, turning away from the empty doorway. The adrenaline was still pumping through my veins, but a cold knot had formed in my stomach. “The federal indictment covers the corporate fraud, but it doesn't explain how Christopher Albright managed to bypass the biometric multi-factor encryption on my home vault three weeks ago.”
Arthur’s expression darkened instantly. “What are you saying?”
“Garrett didn't have the technical know-how to clone my cryptographic key,” I said, my mind racing as I connected the missing dots. “And Christopher Albright is a financier, not a systems engineer. Someone inside our inner circle helped them execute that hack.”
Before Arthur could answer, my cell phone began to vibrate violently in my evening bag. I pulled it out. The screen flashed an unknown, heavily encrypted international caller ID.
I swiped to answer and pressed it to my ear.
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“Mrs. Bradford,” a synthesized, distorted voice whispered through the speaker. “If you want to know who really sold you out, check your private email inbox right now. You have thirty seconds before the rest of your family’s offshore accounts go up in smoke.”
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