Chapter 8 - THE CRUMBLING EMPIRE
Pandemonium erupted in the ballroom.
Investors began shouting, demanding to know where their deposit money was. Security guards scrambled to hold the crowd back.
Gavin stumbled backward, shaking his head wildly. “No! That’s illegal! The Wexler Trust guarantees my operations! You can't seize it!”
“The Wexler Trust?” my father asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “You filed a motion to sever yourself from the trust three weeks ago, Gavin. You claimed you wanted independence. The judge granted it this morning. You are completely exposed.”
Gavin had dug his own grave. In his arrogant attempt to cut my family out so he could steal the money, he had removed the very legal shield that would have protected him from a hostile takeover.
“You set me up!” Gavin screamed, losing every ounce of his public composure. He lunged toward my father.
Before he could take two steps, three massive security guards tackled Gavin to the polished wooden stage, pinning him down effortlessly.
I walked out from behind the floral arrangement and slowly approached the front of the stage.
Gavin looked down at me from where he was pinned, his face pressed against the floor boards. He was sweating, terrified, his empire reduced to dust in less than five minutes.
“Elena, please!” Gavin begged, his voice cracking with desperation. “Stop him! Tell him to stop! I’m your husband!”
I looked up at him, feeling the cool weight of my mother’s emerald necklace against my skin.
“You haven't been my husband in years, Gavin,” I said, my voice projecting clearly over the chaos. “You were just a man spending my money.”
I turned my gaze to Brielle. She was standing frozen in the front row, clutching her expensive clutch bag. The realization of what was happening was dawning on her. Gavin wasn't a rich visionary she could flee to Switzerland with. He was a broke, fraudulent criminal about to go to federal prison.
“Brielle,” I said softly.
She flinched.
“Take the bracelet off,” I commanded.
Brielle’s hands trembled violently. She unclasped my mother’s sapphire bracelet and held it out to me. I took it, dropping the heavy platinum into my evening bag.
“The flight to Geneva leaves tomorrow at 9:00 AM,” I told her, my voice laced with cold pity. “I suggest you pack. Because Gavin won't be joining you.”
Right on cue, the heavy oak doors at the back of the ballroom swung open.
Four FBI agents walked into the room, their badges gleaming under the chandeliers. They marched directly to the stage.
“Gavin Rourke,” the lead agent said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. “You are under arrest for wire fraud, embezzlement, and conspiracy to commit bank fraud.”
They hauled Gavin to his feet. His tailored suit was ruined. His face was streaked with tears of pure panic.
“Elena!” he screamed as they dragged him away, thrashing against the agents. “Elena, help me! Please!”
I didn't answer. I stood perfectly still, watching as the man who had struck me, belittled me, and tried to steal my family's legacy was hauled out of the room in handcuffs, completely destroyed in front of everyone he had ever wanted to impress.
My father walked to the edge of the stage and looked down at me.
“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked gently.
May you like
I looked at the empty space where Gavin had just been. I felt a profound, overwhelming sense of lightness. The suffocating weight I had carried for eight years was gone.
“I am, Dad,” I smiled. “I really am.”
