Chapter 8 - The Ruin of the Legacy
In the weeks following the sensational arrests at the Drake Hotel, the news media tore the Cole family legacy to shreds.
DEAD MAN WALKING: FORMER TECH CEO ARRESTED IN $40M FRAUD STING THE MOTHER-IN-LAW FROM HELL: VIVIAN COLE FACES 15 YEARS FOR FRAUD HEROINE OF CHICAGO: ARCHITECT RECLAIMS $50M ESTATE FROM FRAUDULENT HUSBAND
Through Victoria’s relentless legal execution, the Federal District Court issued a complete forfeiture order. Every single asset associated with Ethan Cole, Vivian Cole, and Vance Bio-Tech was seized by the court and transferred directly to me as financial restitution for five years of grand larceny.
The six-bedroom mansion in Wilmette? Transferred to my name. The Lake Forest estate Vivian lived in? Placed on the auction block. The patent rights for the diagnostic sensor Ethan spent five years developing? Transferred entirely to my architectural-tech investment holding company.
Madeline Ross was left completely destitute. Because she had actively participated in using stolen funds to buy her personal luxury vehicles and property while knowing Ethan’s true identity, her personal accounts were frozen by the IRS. She was forced to move back to her parents' modest home in Indiana with Oliver, stripped of her designer wardrobe and luxury lifestyle.
One month before the trial, I received a request from the Cook County Jail.
Ethan wanted to see me.
I drove to the correctional facility on a grey Tuesday afternoon. Sitting behind the thick bulletproof glass in the visitation room, I waited.
The heavy steel door opened, and Ethan was led in by two armed guards.
He was wearing an orange jumpsuit. His slicked-back hair had been chopped short into a rough prison buzzcut. He had lost weight, his face pale and hollow under the harsh fluorescent lights.
He sat down, picking up the dirty plastic phone receiver with trembling hands.
I picked up mine.
"Claire," Ethan rasped, his voice sounding broken, stripped of all its former charm. "Thank you... thank you for coming."
"You have five minutes, Ethan," I said flatly.
Ethan pressed his forehead against the glass, tears leaking from his eyes. "Claire... the prosecutor is offering a plea deal. Twenty-two years in federal prison. My mother is facing twelve years in a minimum-security facility. Her health is failing, Claire... she won't survive twelve years..."
"Then she shouldn't have committed wire fraud at sixty-five," I replied without a trace of pity.
"Claire, please!" Ethan sobbed, slamming his hand against the glass. "I know I was a monster! I know I betrayed you! But please... ask the judge to reduce my mother's sentence! Leave us enough money to pay for Oliver’s school! He’s an innocent child, Claire!"
I looked at him calmly.
"Oliver is innocent," I agreed softly. "Which is why I have established a private, irrevocable educational trust fund for him that will pay for his college tuition directly when he turns eighteen—so he never has to rely on a penny from his criminal father or his toxic grandmother."
Ethan blinked, stunned by my words. "You... you built a trust for Oliver?"
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"Yes," I said. "Because unlike you, Ethan, I don't punish children for the sins of their parents. But as for you and Vivian... you will serve every single day of your sentences."
I set the telephone receiver back onto its hook, stood up, and walked out of the room, leaving Ethan pounding frantically on the glass, screaming into the silence.
