Chapter 2 - The Flashing Lights

The mediation was supposed to be a formality—a desperate attempt by Diego’s high-priced defense attorney to force me into dropping the criminal assault charges in exchange for a meager financial settlement.

They chose a neutral boardroom in a high-rise downtown, a room with heavy mahogany tables and expansive views of the Rockies. Diego, his father, Victoria, and their team of three lawyers sat on one side of the table. They looked arrogant, impatient, and completely oblivious to the trap they had just walked into.

Marcus and I sat opposite them. I wore a sharp, tailored white suit. I didn't look like a victim. I looked like an executioner.

“Let’s get this over with,” Diego’s lead attorney sneered, tossing a thin folder across the table. “My client is willing to offer a one-time payment of fifty thousand dollars for the emotional distress caused by the... accidental plate incident. In exchange, Valerie will drop all criminal charges and sign a non-disclosure agreement regarding the family.”

Victoria scoffed loudly. “Fifty thousand is too much for this nonsense. She should be grateful we’re offering anything.”

I didn't touch the folder. I didn't even look at it.

I looked at Diego. He was glaring at me, tapping his expensive pen against the table, trying to project strength while practically sweating through his designer suit.

“I reject the offer,” I said smoothly.

The defense attorney sighed, annoyed. “Valerie, be reasonable. If you take this to trial, we will drag your name through the mud. We will paint you as an unstable, aggressive woman. You’ll lose your job, and you’ll get nothing.”

Marcus finally leaned forward, placing a sleek silver laptop on the table. He turned the screen so Diego and his father could see it.

“Actually, counselor,” Marcus said, his voice dripping with venom, “I think my client is being extremely reasonable. Because she’s the only one in this room who isn't facing twenty years in federal prison.”

Marcus pressed a button.

The screen displayed an intricate, undeniable spreadsheet. It showed wire transfers, dummy accounts, offshore LLCs, and the exact flow of the stolen investor funds.

Diego’s father stopped breathing. The color violently drained from his face. He grabbed the edge of the table as if the room had suddenly tilted.

Diego dropped his pen. It clattered loudly in the dead-silent room.

“Where did you get that?” Diego choked out, his voice a pathetic whisper.

“That is the financial blueprint of a massive, multi-million dollar Ponzi scheme,” I said, leaning in, ensuring they felt every ounce of my power. “We know about the three million you owe. We know about the forged collateral documents. We know you tried to steal my condo to cover your tracks.”

Victoria looked wildly between her husband and her son. “What is she talking about? What Ponzi scheme? Diego?”

“Shut up, Mom!” Diego snapped, his panic fully taking over.

Their lead attorney looked at the screen, realized the monumental scope of the fraud his clients were involved in, and slowly closed his briefcase. “I cannot represent you in this matter. This meeting is over.”

“You’re not going anywhere, counselor,” Marcus said calmly, checking his watch. “Because exactly three minutes ago, I forwarded these files to the regional director of the SEC and the Denver field office of the FBI.”

Right on cue, the heavy glass doors of the boardroom swung open.

Six federal agents, wearing dark windbreakers with FBI emblazoned on the back, stepped into the room.

“Diego and Arthur Vanderbilt,” the lead agent announced, flashing a badge. “You are both under arrest for federal wire fraud, embezzlement, and conspiracy. Put your hands on the table.”

Victoria screamed, a raw, ugly sound of absolute devastation as agents moved in to handcuff her husband and her son.

I stood up, buttoning my white jacket, and looked down at Diego as he was pressed against the mahogany wood, his wrists locked in steel for the second time.