Chapter 6 - THE BOARDROOM RAID
At 9:00 AM sharp, the glass double doors of Whitaker Vineyards' corporate headquarters on Napa's main commercial strip swung open.
The receptionist looked up, expecting the usual stream of wine distributors or resort executives. Instead, she saw me, followed by Brooke Sullivan, Patricia Reynolds carrying a briefcase handcuffed to her wrist, and Marcus Vance flanked by two local agricultural inspectors.
"Mrs. Whitaker!" the receptionist stammered, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the linoleum. "Mr. Whitaker isn't in yet. He's... he's handling an emergency at the Grand Meridian."
"I know," I said smoothly, walking past her desk without breaking stride. "That's why we're occupying his office."
We marched down the executive hallway toward the corner office suite with its panoramic view of the valley.
The door was locked.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He placed his heavy palm against the mahogany door, leaned his shoulder into it with a practiced, heavy-duty shove, and the brass lock splintered inward with a sharp crack.
The luxurious office—all leather furniture, expensive art, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves—was empty.
Brooke walked straight to Charles’s massive glass desk. She sat down in his ergonomic leather chair, popped open the back panel of his executive computer tower, and pulled out a hidden flash drive taped to the metal housing.
"Got it," Brooke said, plugging the drive into a laptop she pulled from her bag. "Every encrypted financial ledger from the last ten years. Including the private accounts where Charles skimmed funds from the export subsidies to pay for his Sonoma villa and Brooke's—well, my predecessor's—lifestyle."
Patricia set her briefcase on the desk and snapped the handcuffs open. "I've already filed an emergency injunction with the Napa County Superior Court freezing all corporate accounts under Charles's individual signature. As of eight minutes ago, Charles Whitaker cannot withdraw a single dollar to buy a cup of coffee."
The office door suddenly flew open.
Charles stood there, disheveled, his suit jacket wrinkled, his face purple with rage. He had driven straight from the hotel after learning from his frantic accountant that his bank cards had been declined at a roadside gas station.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" Charles roared, storming into the room.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Brooke sitting behind his desk, tapping away at his laptop.
"You!" Charles screamed, pointing a shaking finger at his former mistress. "You traitorous little witch! You were supposed to be on a plane to New York!"
Brooke didn't even flinch. She slowly looked up from the screen, her gaze as cold and sharp as broken glass.
"Good morning, Charles," Brooke said calmly. "Or should I call you Uncle Charles? No, let's stick to Mr. Whitaker. It has a nice federal-indictment ring to it."
Charles staggered backward, his eyes widening in sheer terror as he looked from Brooke to me. "You... you told her?"
"I told her everything," I said, standing up from the leather sofa and walking slowly toward him. "I told her how your father stole her from her mother. I told her how you brought her into this company to use her as a shield. And most importantly, Charles, I told her how you committed wire fraud by forging my signature on the primary collateral documents for the resort loan."
Charles’s face drained of all color. He looked around the room as if searching for an escape route, but Marcus Vance was blocking the doorway, his massive arms crossed over his chest.
"That's a lie," Charles stammered, backing up against the bookshelves. "The loan was approved! The developers are coming!"
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"The developers walked away at midnight when Margaret Lawson saw the title search Patricia published in the Chronicle this morning," I said coldly. "The land belongs to the trust. The trust belongs to me and Brooke. And your corporate charter has been revoked for systematic fraud."
Charles sank to his knees, his hands grabbing his head as the reality of his total, catastrophic ruin finally crashed down upon him.
