Chapter 6 - The Fifth Avenue Fallout
The screens in Vanguard’s D.C. boardroom had flickered black, but the shockwave of the transmission was already rewriting the map of Manhattan real estate and high-society standing.
By noon, the digital footprint of Weston Capital had been reduced to a flashing red banner across financial news networks: FEDERAL ASSET FREEZE TARGETS WESTON CAPITAL. INVESTIGATION WIDENS.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the capital traffic crawl beneath a gray noon sky, when Vance stepped up beside me with a tablet displaying a live video feed from Fifth Avenue.
“Your husband’s corporate headquarters was cleared by federal marshals twenty minutes ago,” Vance said quietly. “And his residential penthouse is currently drawing a crowd of reporters and photographers who were expecting a society gala tonight, not a raid.”
On the tablet screen, the familiar limestone facade of our building was swarming with media personnel. Microphones clustered near the glass doors. And right in the center of the chaos stood Lila Summers.
She was wearing an oversized designer trench coat, her red hair windblown, her face devoid of the smug, triumphant makeup from the gala. A camera flash caught her blinking aggressively as a reporter shoved a microphone toward her face, shouting questions about offshore accounts and corporate embezzlement.
She looked small, frantic, and entirely unmoored from the protective luxury Andrew had wrapped her in.
“She’s trying to distance herself already,” I murmured, watching Lila shove past a cameraman toward a waiting cab. “She thought she was marrying a titan. She didn't realize she was tying herself to a sinking hull.”
“People of that caliber rarely stick around when the water gets cold,” Vance replied, turning his gaze toward me. “Which brings us to your husband. His defense counsel just reached out to the U.S. Attorney’s office. They want a closed-door meeting tomorrow morning.”
I turned from the window, the reflection of the room catching in the glass. “On whose terms?”
“Ours,” Vance said, a tight, satisfied smile forming on his lips. “Andrew is still operating under the delusion that he can negotiate his way out of this by offering up junior associates or blaming the market fluctuations. He doesn't know you’re the one holding the master key to the offshore shell accounts.”
I looked down at my hand, resting lightly against my stomach. The baby gave a sharp, definitive kick, as if echoing the sudden pulse of resolve running through my veins.
May you like
“Then let’s schedule the meeting,” I said. “It’s time to show him who really owns the legacy.”
---
