Chapter 6 - The Velvet Trap
Over the next four days, Daniel Mercer lived in a manic state of absolute delusion.
Convinced that his selection for the Bradford gala meant the fifty-million-dollar dealership deal was a guaranteed formality, he threw caution to the wind.
He didn't notice that his calls to Claire’s cell phone went straight to an out-of-service notification. He didn't care that Cooper was gone; he simply told the soccer league that his ex-wife was "having an emotional breakdown" and keeping the boy with distant relatives.
Instead, Daniel went on a spending spree.
He leased a brand-new Mercedes-Maybach under his dealership’s corporate fleet account, promising the general manager that the expense would be reimbursed ten times over once the Bradford contract was inked. He took Jessica to the most exclusive boutiques in Nashville, purchasing a $12,000 custom emerald satin gown that barely covered her back, along with thousands of dollars in designer shoes and diamond earrings—all put on high-interest commercial credit lines.
"We have to look like old money, Daniel," Jessica cooed as they sat in a private booth at a five-star steakhouse on Thursday night, sipping vintage champagne. "When George Bradford sees us, he needs to know he’s partnering with winners."
"He’s seventy years old, Jess," Daniel said smugly, swirling his glass. "A mountain man who struck oil, timber, and logistics. A bit of country bumpkin who got lucky. I know how to play these old Southern guys. A firm handshake, a few jokes about golf, and a woman like you on my arm. He’ll sign the papers before the dessert course."
Across the table, Linda Mercer beamed, wearing a newly purchased sapphire necklace that Daniel had bought with funds borrowed against his mother’s own reverse mortgage.
"I called your Aunt Susan today," Linda bragged, puffing out her chest. "I told her to tell the whole church circle that Daniel is about to become a multi-millionaire. I made sure to mention that Claire couldn't handle the pressure and ran back to her little mountain shack. Good riddance to bad rubbish."
"To the future," Daniel toasted, clinking his glass against theirs. "To the Mercer Empire."
While they drank their champagne, fifteen miles away in a high-security office building in downtown Nashville, three federal investigators from the Securities and Exchange Commission were reviewing the forensic audit delivered personally by Marcus Vance.
"Every single asset listed on this disclosure is fictional," Agent Reynolds said, flipping through Daniel’s submitted portfolio. "The deeds are forged. The bank reserves are photoshopped. And the secondary guarantor's signature—Claire Lane Mercer—is completely fraudulent."
"Does George Bradford want him picked up now?" his partner asked.
Agent Reynolds checked a memo on his screen and smirked. "No. Mr. Bradford specifically requested that the arrest warrants be executed tomorrow night. At the Grand Hermitage Hotel. During the executive announcement."
"Public humiliation?"
May you like
"Poetic justice," Reynolds corrected. "Let the boy put on his tuxedo first."
***
