Chapter 6 - The Execution of Hart MeridianForty-eight hours later, the thirty-sixth floor of Hart Meridian Tower in Lower Manhattan was engulfed in a storm of absolute, chaotic panic.
James Hart stood behind his mahogany desk, his tie pulled loose, sweating profusely as his senior attorneys frantically reviewed a mountain of federal court motions served on them at 8:00 AM.
The double oak doors of his executive office were thrown wide open.
Nico walked into the room, wearing a bespoke midnight-blue suit, his broad shoulders cutting a dark, commanding shadow. Beside him walked me—wearing a sharp, tailored ivory pantsuit, my dark hair pulled back into a sleek, professional bun, holding a heavy leather briefcase.
Behind us walked Arthur Sterling—the chief federal prosecutor for the Southern District of New York.
My father’s face drained of every drop of blood. He stumbled backward against his desk, staring at me as if a ghost had walked through his doors.
“E-Evie…?” my father stammered, his voice cracking into a pathetic, terrified squeak. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you with him?! Why is the federal prosecutor here?!”
I walked straight up to his mahogany desk, opened my leather briefcase, and pulled out a clean, heavy stack of forensic accounting audits and federal motion filings.
I dropped them flat onto his desk with a sharp, echoing CLACK.
“This is the motion for immediate asset seizure, James,” I said, my voice deadpan, precise, and ringing with absolute, unshakeable authority. “Along with a forty-count federal indictment for grand larceny, wire fraud, maritime forgery, and the cold-blooded murder of my mother, Eleanor Hart.”
My father’s jaw dropped. He looked down at the documents, then raised his wild, terrified eyes to mine. “Evie! Are you insane?! I’m your father! I did everything to protect you!”
“You sold me to a man you thought would keep me quiet,” I corrected, stepping closer, looking down at him with quiet, unbothered disgust. “You used my mother’s memory to hide your crimes, and you tried to frame my husband for a federal RICO conspiracy.”
Nico stepped up beside me, resting his warm, heavy hand comfortably over the small of my back—a gesture of absolute, united power.
“Your company is gone, James,” Nico announced, his deep baritone cutting through the silent office like a guillotine. “By order of the federal court, Hart Meridian’s assets have been transferred into a permanent liquidation trust managed exclusively by my wife.”
Two federal marshals stepped through the office doors, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from their belts.
My father stared at me, weeping pathetically, as the marshals pinned his arms behind his back and snapped the steel cuffs around his wrists.
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“Evelyn! Please!” my father sobbed as he was led toward the door. “You’re my daughter! You can’t do this to me!”
I turned my back on him, picking up my briefcase, and watched the doors close behind him forever.
