Chapter 4 - The Audience of BeggarsThree minutes later, the private executive elevator chimed softly.
The double doors opened, and Brendan and Diane Morrison were escorted into my thirty-thousand-square-foot corporate sanctuary by four armed Vanguard security guards.
They looked unhinged.
Diane was wearing the same silk dress from the previous evening—now rumpled, stained with red wine at the hem, her expensive hair styled in messy, frantic wisps. She carried no designer handbag, no diamond jewelry, and no arrogant posture.
Brendan looked worse. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark, purple shadows, his suit jacket gone, his white dress shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the collar.
Standing beside them was Jessica, who looked terrified, clinging to Brendan’s arm as if he were a sinking ship in a hurricane.
When Brendan walked into my office and saw me sitting behind the massive mahogany desk—surrounded by corporate lawyers, security chiefs, and the glittering skyline of the city—his knees visibly trembled.
"Cassidy..." Brendan choked out, his voice cracking into a pathetic, desperate whine. "Cassidy... please... you have to stop this. The banks froze our personal accounts this morning! They towed my car! They won't even let my mother back into her house to get her medicine!"
Diane took three frantic steps forward, her hands raised in a wild, groveling gesture that mirrored a beggar on a street corner.
"Cassidy! My dear... my beautiful daughter-in-law!" Diane wept, tears cutting tracks through her heavy makeup. "I was wrong! It was a terrible joke! The water... the water was just a silly prank! I didn't mean to hurt you or the baby! I love my grandchild!"
A cold, dry laugh escaped my lips—a sound so smooth and sharp it cut through her crying like a steel blade.
"A prank, Diane?" I asked, leaning forward over my desk, resting my hands flat against the mahogany. "You dumped a bucket of ice water over a seven-month-pregnant woman's head, told her she finally looked decent, and offered her twenty dollars to take a cab into the night."
Diane went dead pale, her jaw trembling violently, completely unable to utter a single word of response.
I turned my eyes onto Jessica, who tried to hide behind Brendan’s shoulder.
"And you, Jessica," I continued, my voice deadpan and precise. "You warned me not to get my 'smell' on your expensive linen."
Jessica let out a tiny, whimpering sob, dropping her head in absolute, suffocating shame.
"Cassidy, please!" Brendan begged, dropping to his knees in the middle of my plush executive rug, slapping his hands against his face as he wept uncontrollably. "I'll do anything! I'll apologize on live television! I'll sign any custody agreement you want! Just don't destroy my family's legacy! Give me back my job at Morrison Logistics!"
I pulled a thick manila folder from my desk drawer and tossed it flat onto the glass table in front of him.
"You don't have a job at Morrison Logistics, Brendan," I revealed cleanly. "Because four hours ago, Vanguard Holdings filed a criminal fraud complaint with the District Attorney's office regarding the four-point-two million dollars you funneled from the corporate logistics account into Jessica's private interior design firm."
Brendan stopped crying. His bloodshot eyes widened into vast, horror-stricken circles of pure, unadulterated shock.
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"What... what did you say?" Brendan gasped out.
"You embezzled corporate capital to buy your mistress a luxury apartment in Soho, Brendan," I whispered softly. "Did you really think the Chief Executive Officer of the parent company wouldn't notice?"
