Chapter 4 - The Scraps of Vanessa ColeWhen you build a relationship on stolen money and luxury gifts, don't be surprised when you're left holding the bill for both.
1:00 p.m.
The lobby of the Plaza Hotel was bustling with tourists, socialites, and afternoon tea guests.
Vanessa Cole sat at a small corner table, wearing her cream silk blouse, nervously sipping a mimosa while staring at her phone screen. Every major gossip blog in New York had published the story of Daniel Whitmore’s arrest at Aurum House, complete with high-resolution photos of him being led out in handcuffs.
Her phone buzzed. She picked it up frantically, expecting Daniel’s lawyer.
Instead, I sat down in the plush armchair directly across from her table.
Vanessa gasped, nearly dropping her glass. "You... Emily! What are you doing here?!"
"I brought you a gift, Vanessa," I said smoothly, sliding a white envelope across the marble table.
Vanessa stared at the envelope as if it were a venomous snake. "What is this? Are you suing me?!"
"Inside that envelope," I explained calmly, "is a civil summons for the return of three point two million dollars in converted corporate assets. Over the past eighteen months, Daniel used my company’s secondary accounts to buy you a Cartier watch, an apartment lease in SoHo, two trip packages to St. Barts, and seven designer handbags."
Vanessa’s face went chalk-white. "He... he gave those to me as gifts! I didn't know where the money came from!"
"Ignorance is not a legal defense against receiving stolen corporate property, Vanessa," I replied, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the table. "My legal team filed an emergency asset attachment this morning. Your SoHo apartment lease has been terminated, your bank accounts are frozen, and the marshals will be at your door at four o'clock to collect the jewelry."
Vanessa began to cry, thick tears running down her carefully contoured cheeks. "Emily, please! I didn't know he was stealing from you! He told me you were rich and didn't care about the money! He told me you were divorcing him!"
"He told you whatever you wanted to hear so you would make him feel like a powerful man," I said softly, looking at her without an ounce of hatred or pity. "You wore a cream silk blouse to court yesterday because you thought you won. But you didn't win a man, Vanessa. You won a sixteen-million-dollar criminal lawsuit."
Vanessa buried her face in her hands, weeping hysterically as tea guests at surrounding tables turned to stare at her.
I stood up, buttoning my blazer, looking down at the woman who had helped destroy my marriage.
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"You can keep the cream silk blouse," I added quietly. "You're going to need something to wear when you testify at his trial."
I walked out of the Plaza Hotel into the bright afternoon sun, feeling lighter than I had in five years.
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