Chapter 3 - The Princess FallsWhile Mark sat in a high-security holding cell facing federal extortion and fraud charges, Yasmin and Gillian were discovering that the world they had built on my grandmother's money was disintegrating around them.
Three days after the incident, Gillian’s high-society life came to a crashing halt.
At 10:00 a.m. on a Tuesday, Gillian was sitting in her holding cell at the county jail, wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit, her dark roots showing beneath her bleached-blonde hair. Because she had actively participated in the recording of the assault and had egged Mark on, the District Attorney had charged her as an active co-conspirator to felony assault.
Her high-priced defense attorney, a man hired using Yasmin’s personal savings, sat across from her in the visitation room.
"Where is my bail money?!" Gillian shrieked, slamming her manicured hands onto the steel table. "My mother said she would have the cash by this morning! I have a hair appointment and a brand deal shoot in West Hollywood on Thursday!"
"Miss Darcy, quiet down," the attorney warned, rubbing his temples. "There is no bail money."
Gillian froze. "What do you mean there’s no bail money?! My mother has three credit cards with a fifty-thousand-dollar limit!"
"Had," the attorney corrected flatly. "As of midnight, the federal government issued a freeze order on all accounts associated with Darcy Global Holdings and any personal accounts tied to your stepfather, your mother, and you."
"They can't freeze my account!" Gillian screamed, her voice cracking with wild panic. "My account gets a fifteen-thousand-dollar monthly allowance from the family trust!"
"The family trust was created by Abigail Darcy," the lawyer explained coldly. "And according to the terms of the trust, all distribution rights passed exclusively to Alana Darcy upon Abigail's death. Alana officially revoked your allowance seventy-two hours ago. Furthermore, the landlord of your luxury condo in downtown San Francisco has served an emergency eviction notice due to non-payment of rent, and your Porsche lease has been revoked due to fraudulent bank credentials."
Gillian slumped back in her chair, her face turning pale as paper. "No... no, this is a mistake! Alana can't do this to me! She’s just a timid little orphan!"
"Alana Darcy isn't a timid orphan, Miss Darcy," the attorney sighed, packing his briefcase. "She is now the sole Chief Executive Officer of an eighty-million-dollar estate, and she has instructed us that she will not accept any plea deals that do not include mandatory prison time for every person in that room."
Meanwhile, in the neighboring interrogation room, Yasmin was undergoing her own nightmare.
FBI agents laid out a series of financial invoices dating back five years. It turned out Yasmin had not merely been a passive bystander in Mark’s schemes—she had been actively embezzling money from the agave ranch in Sonoma, funneling cash into offshore shell companies in the Cayman Islands under her maiden name.
"Mrs. Darcy," Detective Vance said, sliding a document across the table. "Your husband claimed you managed the payroll for the Sonoma ranch. Care to explain why two hundred thousand dollars a year was being paid to a 'consulting firm' that leads directly to your personal bank account in Grand Cayman?"
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Yasmin’s fake composure shattered. "Mark told me to do that! He said it was tax avoidance! I didn't know it was illegal!"
"Ignorance is not a defense for wire fraud, Mrs. Darcy," Vance replied coldly. "Especially when the person you were stealing from was your late mother-in-law."
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