“The Cayman accounts are fully under your umbrella LLC. He has absolutely no idea the liquidity has been moved.”
Vivian’s breath hitched. She took a step backward, the wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass.
“Forged perfectly," the lawyer's recorded voice continued. “It looks like he authorized the transfers himself. If he tries to audit the firm, the paper trail leads directly back to his own digital signature.”
Marcus paused the recording.
He turned around and leaned casually against the marble fireplace.
"Did you really think," Marcus asked quietly, "that I built a multi-billion dollar logistics empire by being careless with my own security?"
Vivian was trembling now. The arrogance had entirely evaporated. "That... that proves nothing. It's an illegal recording. You can't use that in court."
"I don't need to," Marcus said. He tapped his phone again.
The screen changed. It displayed an email inbox. The top message was marked urgent, sent directly from the senior managing partner of Richard Vance’s law firm.
"Ten minutes ago, while I was washing the bleach off my daughter's hands, I forwarded that audio file to the senior partners at your little boyfriend's firm," Marcus explained calmly. "Along with a forensic audit I had my personal accounting team run on the Cayman LLC while I was on my flight over the Atlantic. It turns out, Vivian, that you aren't very good at hiding money."
Vivian opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"Richard Vance was fired twenty minutes ago," Marcus continued, his voice cold and rhythmic, driving the nails into her coffin. "He is currently being detained by federal investigators for wire fraud, embezzlement, and forging a legal signature across international lines. And the best part? Before they even put the cuffs on him, Richard handed over all of your text messages to save himself."
The crystal wine glass slipped from Vivian's hand.
It shattered against the marble floor, sending red wine splashing across the white tiles, pooling exactly where Maya had been scrubbing just half an hour earlier.
"No," Vivian whispered, her eyes darting frantically toward the front door. "No, you can't. The house... the house is still in my name."
"Fraud nullifies the contract, Vivian," Marcus said. "You stole the asset. You don't own it."
As if on cue, the heavy sound of tires crushing gravel echoed from the driveway outside.
Vivian spun around. Through the sheer curtains of the massive front windows, the flashing red and blue lights of three police cruisers were visible, reflecting off the wet pavement. Behind them were two black SUVs belonging to Marcus's private security detail.
"Marcus, please," Vivian gasped, the reality of her situation finally crashing down on her. Her voice broke, sounding desperate and pathetic. She took a step toward him, her hands raised in a pleading gesture. "I made a mistake. I was scared. You were gone so much, I just wanted to make sure I was secure. We can fix this."
She looked at Maya, her eyes wide with a frantic, manufactured sorrow.
"Maya, tell him," Vivian begged, her voice rising in pitch. "Tell him I took care of you! I gave you a roof, I fed you. Tell your father!"
Maya stepped out from behind Marcus.
She looked at the shattered glass on the floor. She looked at the red wine staining the marble. And then she looked up at the woman who had tormented her for six months.
Maya didn't yell. She didn't cry.