Chapter 7 - The Downfall of Thomas Prescott
The boardroom erupted into total chaos.
Board members began shouting over one another, pointing fingers, while several younger directors immediately pulled out their phones to check their trading portals.
“This is a ridiculous fabrication!” Attorney Prescott shouted, his face turning beet red as he slammed his fist on the table. “You can’t buy ninety million dollars of corporate debt in secret! Texas banking law requires a thirty-day disclosure period for primary debt transfers!”
“Texas banking law requires disclosure, Mr. Prescott,” Prosecutor Evelyn Reed’s smooth voice echoed from the doorway as she stepped into the room holding a leather folder, “unless the transfer is made under federal emergency fraud provisions.”
Prescott froze. His hand, still resting on the table, began to twitch.
“Prosecutor Reed?” Prescott stammered, swallowing hard. “What... what are you doing here? This is a civil corporate matter.”
“It was a civil corporate matter, Thomas,” Reed said, pulling a set of blue federal documents from her folder. “Until forty-five minutes ago, when your head paralegal at Prescott & Associates signed a full cooperation agreement with the District Attorney’s office.”
Vivian gasped, turning her head slowly to look at her attorney. “Thomas... what is she talking about? What paralegal?!”
Prescott couldn't answer. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple, dripping off his jaw onto his silk tie.
“Your paralegal admitted under oath,” Prosecutor Reed explained, looking directly at Prescott, “that on November 14th of last year, you personally brought a fraudulent public notary into Richard Sterling’s master bedroom while he was heavily sedated on Lorazepam.”
Reed pulled out a laminated photograph and tossed it onto the center of the table.
It was a crystal-clear high-definition security camera photo showing Prescott holding a pen between my father’s limp, shaking fingers while Vivian held his head up off the pillow to sign a secondary property release form.
“You forged his signature on five separate asset transfers, Mr. Prescott,” Reed said coldly. “Which constitutes conspiracy to commit grand larceny, bank fraud, and felony falsification of legal documents.”
“No...” Prescott whispered, backing away from the table, his knees wobbling. “No, I... I was just acting on behalf of my client! Mrs. Sterling told me Richard had given verbal consent!”
“You lying coward!” Vivian screamed, turning on Prescott like a rabid animal, her manicured nails digging into his suit sleeve. “You took two hundred thousand dollars in cash under the table to draft those documents! You told me it was completely legal!”
“Shut up, Vivian!” Prescott yelled back, shaking her off. “Shut your mouth!”
“Both of you, keep your hands where we can see them!” two plainclothes detectives barked, stepping through the boardroom doors with their badges displayed.
Within ten seconds, Attorney Thomas Prescott—Dallas’s most expensive corporate lawyer—was forced down onto the mahogany conference table, his arms pulled behind his back as heavy steel handcuffs were clicked around his wrists.
“Thomas Prescott, you are under arrest,” the detective announced, dragging the struggling lawyer toward the door.
Vivian collapsed back into her leather executive chair, breathing heavily, her dark eyes looking wildly around the room at the twelve board members who were now staring at her with utter disgust and contempt.
“Arthur... please,” Vivian whimpered, reaching her hand out toward Arthur Pendelton. “You’ve known me for eight years... You know how much I loved Richard... I was just trying to protect the family business from Charlotte’s greed...”
Arthur Pendelton looked at her with pure ice in his eyes. He slowly slid his leather chair away from her.
“You didn't love Richard, Vivian,” Arthur said, his voice deep and bitter. “You were bleeding him dry. And God forgive all of us on this board for being too blind to see it.”
I walked over to the head of the table, standing right beside Vivian’s chair.
I leaned down until my face was inches from hers.
“It’s over, Vivian,” I whispered softly. “Your money is gone. Your lawyer is going to prison. And your son is sitting in a holding cell at the county jail.”
Vivian looked up at me, her chest heaving, tears finally smearing her heavy eyeliner down her pale cheeks.
“What... what are you going to do to me?” she whispered, her voice completely broken.
May you like
I smiled—a cold, victorious smile that made her shiver.
“I’m going to make sure you pay back every single cent you stole,” I said. “Starting with the clothes on your back.”
