Chapter 8 - The Public Execution
The silence in the ballroom had grown so profound you could hear the champagne bubbles popping in the spilled flutes on the floor.
“You’re trespassing,” Arthur recovered enough to snarl, stepping forward as if physical intimidation could solve his problem. He signaled frantically to the hotel security detail lining the perimeter. “Get her out of my sight. Remove her from the premises immediately!”
“You might want to check your phone first, Uncle Arthur,” I said calmly, pulling a sleek black smartphone from my apron pocket. “Or better yet, ask your chief financial officer why the SEC and the Federal Bureau of Investigation just froze all primary corporate accounts ten minutes ago.”
Arthur’s hand flew to his breast pocket, where his phone began vibrating frantically.
Before he could pull it out, the massive double doors of the Grand Ballroom flew open with a loud bang. A dozen federal agents in dark suits strode into the room, led by a stern-faced woman holding a thick stack of federal arrest and asset seizure warrants.
“Arthur Vanderbilt?” the lead agent called out, her voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers.
Arthur staggered backward, bumping against a tier of untouched wedding cake. “This is a private event! You have no jurisdiction—my legal team—”
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“Federal warrant for corporate fraud, securities manipulation, obstruction of justice, and the wrongful death concealment of Julian Vanderbilt,” the agent stated clearly, stepping up to the dais. She pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs. “You’re coming with us, Mr. Vanderbilt.”
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