Chapter 7 - The Arrest
At 2:30 PM on Friday, two unmarked squad cars and an Illinois State Police cruiser pulled into the executive driveway of Sterling & Cole Capital on LaSalle Street.
This time, there was no polite conversation. There were no country club handshakes.
The viral video had created immense public pressure. The Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office, terrified of being accused of giving preferential treatment to a wealthy white-collar donor, had fast-tracked the arrest warrant.
Arthur Sterling was brought out of the front entrance of the high-rise in full view of dozens of financial district workers, lunch crowds, and two local news camera crews who had been tipped off by online sleuths.
His hands were cuffed behind his tailored navy suit. His silver hair was disheveled. His face was a furious, blotchy scarlet as reporters thrust microphones into his face.
“Mr. Sterling! Did you assault your daughter to cover up grand larceny?”
“Arthur! Care to comment on the viral video?”
Arthur snarled, lunging awkwardly toward a camera operator before two state troopers pulled him back and shoved him firmly into the rear of the cruiser.
Thirty miles away in the affluent suburb of Hinsdale, a second team of officers knocked on the door of the family estate.
Chloe Sterling answered the door wearing silk loungewear, her eyes swollen from forty-eight hours of non-stop crying and reading internet comments that called her a sociopath.
“Chloe Sterling?” the female detective asked.
“Yes,” Chloe whimpered, her voice tiny and terrified. “What is this? Ethan called off the wedding! People are sending death threats to my phone! You need to protect me!”
“You have the right to remain silent,” the detective recited, pulling a pair of steel cuffs from her belt. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You are under arrest for Class 1 Felony Identity Theft, Grand Larceny, and Wire Fraud.”
“What?!” Chloe shrieked, backing away into the grand marble foyer. “Mom! MOM! Call Harrison! Tell them they can’t do this! It was just credit card points! It was just family money!”
Evelyn Sterling ran down the curved staircase, her face pale, her hands fluttering in useless, hysterical circles. “Stop this! Do you know who my husband is? You cannot arrest my daughter! She’s getting married!”
“Her fiancé canceled the reception three hours ago, ma’am,” the detective said flatly, grabbing Chloe’s slender wrists and snapping the cuffs into place. “Turn around. Don’t make this worse on yourself.”
As Chloe was led down the stone front steps in handcuffs, the neighbors across the street—the very neighbors Evelyn had spent three decades trying to impress with garden parties and designer cars—stood on their manicured lawns, recording every single second on their phones.
May you like
The illusion was dead. The reality was in handcuffs.
***
