Chapter 4 - The Fall of the Crown
By 8:00 AM the following morning, the storm outside had cleared, giving way to a pale, crisp autumn sunshine that illuminated the high-rise towers of Chicago’s financial district.
Inside the opulent penthouse of the Vandermeer estate, chaos had taken root.
Priscilla Vandermeer stood in her silk robe, her face pale, her hair disheveled, as three television screens in her living room blared non-stop financial news.
"...In an unprecedented market crash, shares of Vandermeer Logistics have plummeted by seventy-four percent in early pre-market trading following allegations of massive fraud, tax evasion, and illegal offshore accounts..."
"...Federal marshals are currently executing search warrants at the headquarters of the Vandermeer Medical Foundation following a bombshell lawsuit filed by Westcott Capital..."
Priscilla’s hands shook as she repeatedly dialed her bank manager’s direct line, only to receive the same automated message: We are sorry, your account access has been suspended per federal regulatory hold.
Bryce sat on the velvet sofa, his neck heavily bandaged from Damon’s grip the night before, staring at his phone in absolute terror.
"Mom..." Bryce whimpered, his voice raspy. "All my accounts are frozen. My cards are declined. The university just sent an email saying my admission has been revoked pending an ethics investigation into the video from last night."
"Shut up!" Priscilla screamed, throwing a crystal coffee cup against the fireplace, shattering it into a thousand pieces. "Shut up! This is impossible! How can one man do this in six hours?!"
"Because he’s Damon Westcott!" Bryce wailed. "I told you we shouldn't have messed with those girls! I told you!"
Before Priscilla could respond, the heavy grand doors of her penthouse were slammed open.
Six federal agents in dark blue jackets stamped with FBI stepped into the foyer, led by Special Agent Thomas Vance. Behind them walked Nathaniel, holding a leather briefcase.
"Priscilla Vandermeer," Agent Vance announced, pulling out a folded warrant. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, tax evasion, and human rights violations involving illegal labor practices."
"This is an outrage!" Priscilla shrieked, backing away toward her balcony windows. "Do you know who my husband was?! Do you know who I am?!"
"We know exactly who you are, Mrs. Vandermeer," Nathaniel said smoothly, stepping forward. "You are now bankrupt. Westcott Capital has purchased your primary residential mortgage, your estate, and all personal property within this penthouse to satisfy your outstanding legal judgments."
Two female agents stepped forward, grabbing Priscilla’s arms and snapping heavy steel handcuffs around her wrists.
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Priscilla screamed and kicked, her diamond slippers falling off her feet as she was dragged toward the door. As she passed the foyer mirror, she caught a glimpse of her reflection—ruined, humiliated, stripped of every shred of wealth and status she had used to crush others.
Outside the building, news vans and photographers had already set up a wall of cameras. As Priscilla and Bryce were pushed into the back of police cruisers, the flashbulbs went off like a relentless lightning storm, capturing the ultimate downfall of Chicago’s cruelest family for the entire world to see.
