Chapter 6 - The Boardroom Ambush
Sloane lunged off the stage, her composure disintegrating into raw hysteria. “You set me up! You planted those files!”
“You stole those files, Sloane,” I said, not flinching as she approached. “Just like you stole my clothes in high school, just like you tried to steal my dignity, and just like you stole my husband. The only difference is, twelve years ago, I didn't have five million dollars in legal retainers.”
The two federal servers stepped between us, blocking Sloane’s path.
“Sloane Avery?” one of the officers asked, his voice booming across the stunned gathering. “You are being served with a temporary restraining order, an emergency asset-freeze injunction issued by the Denver District Court, and a summons to appear before a federal grand jury regarding trade-secret theft.”
He slapped a thick ream of documents against her chest. Sloane let out a choked shriek as the papers scattered across the polished floorboards, sliding under the polished shoes of the city’s most influential investors.
“This is a mistake!” Graham shouted, lunging toward Marcus. “I’m an old man! My son is her husband! This is family business!”
“You stopped being family when you notarized a fraudulent mortgage on her home, Graham,” Marcus replied with arctic disdain. “And as for you being an old man—I suggest you retain a defense attorney who specializes in elderly incarceration. The Colorado Attorney General has already accepted our referral for financial elder abuse and identity fraud.”
Two Denver police officers took Graham by the elbows. “Sir, step outside. You’re causing a public disturbance.”
“Nolan!” Graham howled, struggling against the officers' grips. “Do something! Call our lawyer! Nolan!”
But Nolan couldn't move. He stood frozen, staring down at the thick manila envelope lying at his feet.
“Pick it up, Nolan,” I said softly.
His trembling hands reached down. He picked up the envelope, his fingers tearing open the flap. Inside were thirty high-resolution photographs: Nolan and Sloane entering the Aspen chalet; Nolan kissing Sloane on the balcony of our Denver home; the two wineglasses on my kitchen island; and Sloane’s gold earring resting on my master bathroom counter.
Beneath the photographs lay twenty pages of divorce filings.
“Elena… no…” Nolan whispered, tears springing to his eyes, not of remorse, but of sheer terror. “Elena, she seduced me. She manipulated me! She told me you were going to leave me! It was Sloane! It was all Sloane and my dad! I love you, Elena. You know I love you!”
Sloane spun on him, her mascara streaking down her cheeks in jagged black lines. “You cowardly piece of garbage! You told me she was a frigid corporate workaholic! You told me you hadn't touched her in two years! You promised me we’d take the company and leave her with nothing!”
The guests began whispering furiously, several people pulling out their phones to record the spectacle. High-profile venture capitalists who had been considering investing in Sloane’s firm were already slipping out the side exits, desperate to distance themselves from the radioactive wreckage of the Pierce family.
“Get your things out of my house by midnight,” I told Nolan, my voice devoid of any emotion. “The locks are already being changed. The security codes are reset. The joint accounts have been frozen by court order, and the forensic team is currently packing Graham’s desk into cardboard boxes.”
“Elena, you can’t do this!” Nolan cried, dropping to his knees on the ballroom carpet, reaching out to grab the hem of my gown. “I have nothing without you! I don’t have a job! My name is on the mortgage!”
I stepped backward, out of his reach.
May you like
“You’re right, Nolan,” I said. “You have nothing.”
***