Chapter 7 - A Taste of Justice
The headquarters of Vale Enterprises occupied the thirty-fourth floor of an ultra-modern glass tower on Avenue of the Americas.
When Julian and I stepped out of the private elevator at noon, the floor was in utter chaos. Shredders were whirring in open cubicles. Junior accountants were frantically shoving cardboard boxes full of files into carts, while executive assistants argued in hushed, panicked tones near the water coolers.
The moment the reception doors slid open and I walked in—flanked by Julian and a team of six forensic auditors in sharp charcoal suits—the entire floor froze.
The receptionist, a young woman named Chloe whom Adrian had regularly brought to tears over minor scheduling errors, stood up behind the marble desk, her eyes wide.
“Mrs... Mrs. Vale?” she whispered.
“Elena Montgomery,” I corrected gently, offering her a reassuring smile. “And you don't need to look so terrified, Chloe. The shredding stops now.”
Julian raised two fingers.
The forensic auditors immediately dispersed across the floor, moving toward the copy rooms and file archives with practiced efficiency. Two private security officers hired by Julian took positions by the emergency stairwells and the server room.
“Everyone, please stop what you are doing,” Julian announced, his voice carrying effortlessly over the hum of the air conditioning. “As of ten-fifteen this morning, Montgomery Global Capital has exercised its rights as the primary creditor of Vale Enterprises. The board of directors has been dissolved. Adrian Vale’s executive powers have been terminated. And my sister, Elena, has been appointed interim trustee of all remaining corporate assets.”
A collective sigh of relief seemed to sweep through the lower-level staff. Several assistants dropped the boxes they were holding back onto their desks.
“Does that mean... are we fired?” Chloe asked, her voice trembling.
“No,” I told her, walking over to the desk and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Adrian hasn't paid you overtime in six months, has he?”
Chloe shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.
“You will be paid every dollar owed to you, with interest, by the end of the business day,” I said. “And anyone who assists our audit team in identifying documents Adrian ordered hidden will receive a retention bonus. But if anyone attempts to delete a single email or destroy a single hard drive, you will be answering to my brother Caleb at the precinct.”
The employees didn't hesitate. Within five minutes, three junior accountants had voluntarily brought forward hidden flash drives containing Adrian’s secondary accounting software—the software he used to skim government subsidies before reporting them to the board.
I walked down the wide, carpeted corridor toward Adrian’s corner office.
The heavy frosted-glass doors were engraved with the words: **ADRIAN VALE — FOUNDER & CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER.**
Julian reached out with his shoe, kicked the door wide open, and let out a soft whistle. “The man certainly had delusions of grandeur.”
The office was vast, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. In the center sat an antique mahogany partners desk worth at least eighty thousand dollars. Behind it hung a massive, oil-painted portrait of Adrian standing heroically in front of an impoverished neighborhood, his coat draped over one shoulder like a benevolent monarch.
Sitting on the velvet sofa near the window, smoking a thin cigarette with trembling fingers, was Vanessa Vance.
She had been released on supervised release due to an administrative error in the state system—an error that Caleb was currently rectifying at the prosecutor’s office—and had evidently come straight here to loot the office before the federal marshals arrived.
Two open Louis Vuitton duffel bags sat on the coffee table, stuffed with gold watches, rolled-up oil paintings, and envelopes of bearer bonds taken from Adrian’s private safe behind the portrait.
When she saw me, Vanessa dropped her cigarette onto the Persian rug, jumping to her feet.
“You have no right to be in here!” Vanessa hissed, her voice hoarse from crying in the holding cell. “This is private property! Adrian told me this office belongs to Vance Enterprises!”
Julian didn't even look at her. He walked over to the desk, pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, walked over to Adrian’s massive heroic portrait, and held the flame against the corner of the canvas.
“Julian,” I murmured with a small chuckle.
“Just speeding up the redecoration process, El,” Julian replied mildly as the canvas caught fire, smoke curling upward toward the sprinkler heads. He blew the flame out after a few seconds, leaving a blackened, charred crater right through Adrian’s smug, painted face.
I walked over to the coffee table and looked down at the duffel bags.
“Taking an inventory, Vanessa?” I asked.
“These are my personal belongings!” Vanessa shrieked, clutching the strap of the nearest bag. “Adrian gave them to me! The safe combination is registered in my name!”
“The contents of that safe,” I said, picking up one of the envelopes and pulling out a certified bank draft for six hundred thousand dollars, “were drawn from the emergency medical fund for the Saint Jude’s Women’s Center in Queens. You signed the requisition form, Vanessa. You claimed it was for ‘administrative technology upgrades.’”
Vanessa’s face went completely blank.
“Did you buy technology, Vanessa?” I asked, tilting my head. “Or did you buy that diamond tennis bracelet currently hidden in the inside pocket of your trench coat?”
Vanessa took a step back, her back hitting the floor-to-ceiling window.
Behind her, through the double glass doors, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway.
Caleb entered the office. He wasn't in his dress uniform anymore; he wore his tactical vest, his badge clipped to his belt, flanked by two federal marshals holding an arrest warrant with a bright red seal.
“Vanessa Vance,” Caleb said, pulling a fresh pair of cuffs from his belt. “It seems your administrative release had a small clerical flaw. Specifically, the fact that you failed to disclose four million dollars in stolen bearer bonds currently sitting three feet away from your hands.”
“No!” Vanessa screamed, dropping to her knees on the rug. “No, please! Caleb! Elena! We’re women! You understand how men like Adrian work! He manipulated me! He told me he was going to leave you! He told me he would destroy my family if I didn't help him!”
I walked over and knelt down in front of her, looking directly into her wide, panicked eyes.
“When Adrian slapped me last night,” I whispered, “you didn't look manipulated, Vanessa. You looked thrilled. You told me I always had to make everything about myself.”
I reached out and gently tapped the red bruise on my cheek.
“This was your work, too,” I said. “You fed his ego. You told him he was a king, and you told him I was nothing. Well... look around you, Vanessa.”
I stood back up, stepping away as Caleb and the marshals moved in.
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“The king is in a cage,” I told her as the steel cuffs clicked around her wrists. “And the nothing you tried to step on just bought your entire life.”
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