Chapter 2 - The Audit of Eleven YearsThe subterranean holding facility at the Federal District Court in downtown Chicago was cold, sterile, and smelled of iron and damp concrete.
Derek Moretti sat behind the glass partition in a plain orange jumpsuit, his hands handcuffed to the stainless-steel table. His dark hair was disheveled, his face gaunt, his storm-gray eyes bloodshot and hollowed out by forty-eight hours of federal interrogation.
Sitting across from him behind the glass was me.
I sat in a tailored charcoal wool coat, my hands folded neatly over my leather handbag, my posture tall, sovereign, and completely unbroken.
"Claire..." Derek rasped out through the intercom, his voice breaking into a pathetic, groveling plea. "Please. Talk to Marcus. Tell him the audio file was fabricated! Tell him Grace made a mistake! I'll give you the Evanston mansion. I'll give you fifty percent of the shipping stock! Just get me out of here!"
I looked at the man who had shared my bed for eleven years, the man who had let his mistress hold his hand while I reheated pasta alone in a dark kitchen.
"You don't have fifty percent of the shipping stock anymore, Derek," I revealed deadpan, my hazel eyes holding a razor-sharp, unyielding clarity. "As of eight o'clock this morning, the federal court executed full civil asset forfeiture."
Derek’s jaw sagged open. "W-what...?"
"The video Grace saved from your cloud account didn't just contain your voice, Derek," I explained softly. "It contained the private cryptographic keys to your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands—the accounts where you hid thirty-two million dollars stolen from the Blackwell Children’s Foundation over three years."
Derek thrashed his hands against the glass, the iron handcuffs clanking loudly against the partition. "YOU STOLE MY ACCOUNTS?!"
"No, Derek," I corrected. "I gave them to the federal prosecutor. The thirty-two million dollars has been restored to the foundation. And your River North penthouse has been seized and placed under the legal authority of the Grace Moretti Trust."
Derek collapsed forward against the glass, letting out a ragged, heartbroken sob that echoed flatly through the visitation room.
"Why, Claire...?" he wept into his hands. "Eleven years... I gave you a mansion! I gave you clothes! I gave you status!"
May you like
"You gave me a cage, Derek," I answered softly, standing up from my chair and smoothing my wool coat. "And you forgot that the little girl you ignored was watching every bar you built."
I turned my back on him, walking toward the exit door as the guards stepped forward to lead him back to his cell.
Related Stories
