Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of Ashford
The color drained completely from Eleanor Ashford’s face. "That’s impossible! Our accounts are protected in overseas trusts!"
"They were," my father said smoothly, leaning back against his mahogany desk. "Until two hours ago, when the chief financial officer of Ashford Tech—whom Derek systematically underpaid and threatened for two years—turned state's evidence in exchange for federal immunity. He handed over the secondary ledgers."
Eleanor scrambled for her phone, her hands shaking violently. When she dialed her lead attorney, the call went straight to voicemail.
"Your primary bank accounts have been frozen, Eleanor," I said, stepping forward, feeling a sudden surge of strength flow through my veins. "Your legal retainers just bounced. You can no longer pay these corrupt doctors to write fake medical reports."
The three court-appointed evaluators exchanged uneasy glances. The lead psychiatrist quickly packed his documents into his briefcase. "We... we have sufficient information for our preliminary filing. We will take our leave."
"Wait!" Eleanor shrieked, running after them into the hallway. "I am paying you! You finish the report!"
"You aren't paying anyone, Mrs. Ashford," Marcus said firmly, stepping into her path and blocking her exit from the foyer. "And you have five seconds to leave this house before I have you arrested for criminal trespass."
Eleanor stood in the grand entrance of the Caldwell estate, her hair disheveled, her expensive facade utterly destroyed. She looked at me with pure venom. "You think you've won, Victoria? Derek still has people on the outside. You will never give birth to that child in peace!"
"Get out," I said quietly, pointing toward the heavy oak doors.
She turned and fled down the driveway, her high heels clicking frantically on the stone path.
That night, news channels erupted with the breaking scandal. The Department of Justice had launched a midnight raid on the Ashford Tech headquarters in Silicon Valley. Television footage showed FBI agents carrying dozens of boxes and server towers out of the glass building.
The company's stock crashed by ninety-four percent in after-hours trading. Derek Ashford’s four-billion-dollar empire had vanished in less than forty-eight hours.
Sitting on the sofa in our living room, wrapped in a warm blanket, I watched the news ticker announce Derek’s indictment on twenty-four federal counts.
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"It’s almost over, sweetheart," my father said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Not yet," I whispered, looking down at my pregnant stomach. "He's trapped, Dad. And a trapped animal is when it's most dangerous."
