Chapter 7 - The Net Tightens
While my husband and his family were drinking champagne on the Mediterranean, I was working sixteen hours a day from the top floor of Hartwell Tower.
My physical recovery had been swift, thanks to the world-class medical team my father had provided. The inflammation was fully controlled, my muscular strength had returned, and my mind was sharper than it had ever been.
Sitting in my private office, I watched a live interactive digital map on my desk monitor. A red pulsing dot indicated Thaddius’s current location: a five-star resort in Capri.
"Current running total of their European expenditures," Marcus reported, standing across from my desk with a tablet. "One point eight five million dollars in twenty-eight days."
"Excellent," I said softly, looking over the detailed line-item receipts. "Have the forensic accountants finished documenting the offshore diversions?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Marcus replied, tapping his tablet to project a document onto the wall screen. "We traced the fourteen million dollars Thaddius embezzled over the last two years. He moved it through three shell companies in Nevis before depositing it into a private bank account in Zurich under Clarice’s name."
"And the title to the Tribeca penthouse?"
"Fully transferred back to your primary revocable trust," Marcus confirmed. "Furthermore, we have acquired the deeds to the three luxury properties Thaddius secretly bought in Miami and Aspen using company funds. We filed quiet legal liens against all of them yesterday."
"What about his personal assets?" I asked.
"His personal bank accounts hold less than forty thousand dollars," Marcus chuckled coldly. "He was living entirely off your trust and the corporate line. He has zero real net worth."
At that moment, the door to my office opened, and my father walked in, holding two glasses of sparkling water. He handed one to me and sat in the leather chair across from my desk.
"The federal prosecutor’s office called twenty minutes ago," Sterling said, his eyes glittering with quiet satisfaction. "They’ve reviewed the footage from the penthouse—the video of Thaddius throwing your medicine into the trash, turning off the climate system, cutting the power, and locking you inside."
My fingers tightened around my glass. "What is their assessment?"
"Attempted second-degree murder by deliberate deprivation, reckless endangerment, and grand fraud," Sterling stated firmly. "The Southern District of New York has already prepared sealed federal indictments. The arrest warrants are signed."
"When will they execute?" I asked.
"Whenever you give the word," my father replied. "We can have Interpol arrest them at their hotel in Amalfi tomorrow morning. Drag them through the Italian court system in handcuffs."
I looked out the window, watching the sun set over the Manhattan skyline.
"No," I said slowly, turning back to my father. "Interpol arresting them in Italy is too quiet. They would be held in a private European facility, away from the eyes of the world. They would hire Italian defense attorneys and spin stories to the media."
"What do you want to do then?" Sterling asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Let them finish their seventy-four days," I declared, my voice echoing with absolute, unyielding authority. "Let them fly back to New York on their scheduled First Class flight. Let them arrive at JFK believing they are returning home to claim a dead woman’s fortune."
May you like
I stood up, smoothing the front of my jacket.
"I want them to walk into the Tribeca penthouse expecting a corpse," I said softly. "And I want to be sitting in the armchair waiting for them."
