Chapter 8 - Sloane's Public Demolition
The fallout was swift, brutal, and utterly unsparing.
By Friday afternoon, the *Denver Post* ran a front-page exposé: *“Socialite Boutique Firm Raided in Multi-Million Dollar Corporate Espionage Scheme.”*
Sloane Avery’s carefully curated Instagram empire vanished overnight. Her sponsors pulled out within hours; her high-profile clients issued frantic public statements terminating their contracts. When she tried to access the funds in the Avery-Pierce corporate bank accounts, she discovered that Marcus had already executed a prejudgment attachment order. Every dollar had been frozen pending the civil restitution trial.
Desperate and cornered, Sloane attempted to launch a scorched-earth campaign on TikTok and local podcasts, claiming she was a victim of an ‘abusive corporate mogul’ who used her wealth to frame her innocent family.
She didn't anticipate the counterstrike.
On Saturday morning, with my authorization, Marcus released the unedited, timestamped audio recordings from my kitchen, along with the forensic IT logs showing Graham systematically altering my calendar and extracting client files. The public backlash was volcanic. Sloane’s comment sections turned into a slaughterhouse of public ridicule. The woman who had built her entire identity on being untouchable, glamorous, and superior became the laughingstock of the state.
Worse was yet to come for her.
On Tuesday morning, the Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office arrived at the Aspen chalet with an eviction writ. Sloane had retreated there over the weekend, drinking herself into a stupor surrounded by designer luggage. She was dragged out of the house in handcuffs, wearing an oversized sweater and sweatpants, while local news cameras captured every second of her kicking, screaming, and spitting at the deputies.
The property was placed into a court-ordered receivership to satisfy the five-million-dollar liquidated damages claim Vance Strategic held against her.
Meanwhile, Graham Pierce sat in a holding cell at the Denver Detention Center. The grand jury had returned an eleven-count indictment: wire fraud, conspiracy to commit economic espionage, identity theft, and grand larceny. Because of the sheer volume of digital evidence David Choi had compiled, his public defender advised him that his chances of acquittal were non-existent.
When Nolan visited his father behind the glass partition, the meeting ended in a violent screaming match. Nolan blamed his father for giving him terrible legal advice; Graham spat on the glass, calling his son a spineless coward who had destroyed their retirement.
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Their house of cards hadn't just fallen. It had been pulverized into ash.
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