Chapter 6 - The Beggar at the Tower
The afternoon sun blazed brightly against the glass facade of the Vanguard Tower.
Down in the massive marble lobby, a scene of complete chaotic humiliation was taking place. Everett, looking like an unhoused man with his stained suit, unkempt hair, and wild, manic eyes, was currently on his knees near the security turnstiles, trying to crawl past the laser barriers.
Behind him, Diane was lying on a leather lobby sofa, dramatically sobbing and fanning herself, screaming to every passing businessman that her "evil daughter-in-law" was trying to murder them.
"I need to see Claire!" Everett howled, his hands clutching the steel post of the security barrier. "Call her! Tell her it’s Everett! Tell her I know the truth now! Vanessa lied to me! It was all Vanessa!"
The lobby security guards, dressed in sleek suits, stood in an impenetrable line, holding back the gathering crowd of reporters and passersby who were recording the entire breakdown on their smartphones.
"Mr. Hale," the head of lobby security said calmly. "If you do not vacate the building immediately, we will call the NYPD to execute an arrest for disorderly conduct."
"I don't care! Call them! Let Claire see me!" Everett sobbed, tears cutting dirty tracks down his face. "Claire! Please! I was wrong! I was blind! She tricked me, Claire!"
Up on the top floor, I stood in my executive office, looking down at the lobby security feed on a massive wall-mounted monitor. Nathan stood beside me, holding a warm cup of coffee.
"He’s been down there for two hours, Chairwoman," Nathan remarked smoothly. "The media has already picked up the footage. The headlines are calling it 'The Downfall of Manhattan's Fake Tycoon.'"
"Has the NYPD arrived?" I asked, my tone completely flat.
"They are pulling up outside right now," Nathan answered. "In addition, the Federal Bureau of Investigation has just issued an arrest warrant based on the embezzlement evidence we submitted this morning regarding the Cayman accounts."
On the monitor, the heavy glass doors of the lobby swung open. Four uniformed NYPD officers, accompanied by two federal agents in dark suits, walked smoothly into the building.
They didn't hesitate. They walked straight over to Everett, pulled his hands behind his back, and slapped cold, heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
"Everett Hale," the lead federal agent announced loudly, his voice echoing off the marble walls. "You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, corporate embezzlement, and grand larceny."
"No! No!" Diane shrieked, rolling off the sofa and dropping to her hands and knees in the middle of the lobby. "Don't take my son! Claire! Help us! Speak for him! You’re his wife!"
Everett didn't struggle. As the steel bit into his wrists, he slowly raised his head, looking directly up at the ceiling-mounted camera. He knew I was watching. He knew I was looking down from the heights he could never reach again.
His lips moved silently toward the lens, mouthing two words: I’m sorry.
I reached out, tapped the remote control, and switched the monitor off. The screen went dark.
"Nathan," I said smoothly.
"Yes, Chairwoman?"
"File the final divorce papers. Ensure the settlement grants him exactly what he brought into our marriage ten years ago."
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"Which was?" Nathan asked with a subtle smirk.
"A pair of worn-out sneakers and a hundred thousand dollars in student loan debt," I replied, walking back to my mahogany desk. "Let him pay those off from a federal prison cell."
