Chapter 8 - Stripped of the Title
Evelyn was wearing a tailored charcoal suit that mirrored Rebecca Thorne’s, her dark hair pulled back into an immaculate, severe chignon. On her left cheekbone, the faint purple shadow of Caroline’s slap was covered with high-definition foundation, but to Grant, it looked like a brand of shame burned into his vision.
Beside her walked two men in dark suits carrying federal-style evidence boxes. Behind them came four uniformed NYPD officers.
"Evelyn," Grant pleaded, his arrogance finally shattering into raw, naked panic. "Evelyn, don't do this. We can talk about this. We built this life together. Ten years! Ten years of marriage!"
"You spent the last three of those years stealing from the trust that kept your firm afloat while sleeping with your chief of staff," Evelyn said, stopping six feet in front of him. "You didn't build a life with me, Grant. You built a parasite's nest."
"I loved you!" he shouted, desperate enough to throw whatever lie he could grasp against the wall.
Evelyn didn't even flinch. "You loved my father’s portfolio. You loved the social doors the Halden name opened for you at the country club. And most of all, you loved the illusion that you were a self-made titan of finance."
She turned slightly, nodding to the lead officer.
"Grant Mercer," the officer said, stepping forward with a folder in hand. "I have a warrant for your arrest issued by the Southern District of New York. You are charged with grand larceny, securities fraud, and wire fraud exceeding twenty-five million dollars."
Grant backed up until his spine hit the glass railing overlooking the building’s soaring atrium. "Wire fraud? What wire fraud? That was an internal transfer! Thomas authorized it!"
"Thomas provided the electronic audit logs four hours ago," Rebecca Thorne said, stepping past Evelyn with a thin, ruthless smile. "Including the audio recordings of you threatening to ruin his career if he did not bypass the dual-authorization protocol on the Halden collateral accounts. It turns out Thomas had a recording app installed on his desk phone for the past six months. He was terrified of you, Grant. And terrified men keep immaculate records."
"Thomas you bastard!" Grant screamed, looking around wildly.
The two officers closed the distance, grabbing Grant’s arms and pinning him against the glass railing. The sharp, mechanical *click* of steel handcuffs locking around his wrists sounded like a gunshot in the sterile silence of the executive foyer.
Staff members from the trading desk had begun to gather at the perimeter, staring in utter shock. The invincible Grant Mercer, the golden boy of midtown private equity, was being cuffed like a common thief in front of his entire trading floor.
"Evelyn, please!" Grant sobbed, his face pressed against the cold glass as they patted him down. "Call the lawyers! Tell them to drop the criminal referral! I’ll sign whatever you want! I’ll give you the remaining shares! I’ll walk away with nothing!"
Evelyn stepped closer, until she was looking directly down into his desperate, tear-stained eyes.
May you like
"You already have nothing, Grant," she said softly. "You signed away your rights the moment you let that girl strike me in public. You forgot whose house you were living in."
***
