Chapter 3 - The Boardroom BloodbathMonday morning at Vance Global was usually Caldwell’s favorite time of the week. He loved strutting through the glass-walled corridors, barking orders, and soaking up the adoration of his subordinates.
Today, he was standing outside the skyscraper in a wrinkled suit he had slept in, begging the lobby security guard to let him up.
"Listen to me, Jerry," Caldwell pleaded, his charm wearing dangerously thin. "There’s been a massive misunderstanding. Just let me up to the executive floor. I need to see my wife."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Vance," the guard said coldly. "My screen says if you step past the turnstiles, I am to call the NYPD for trespassing."
Up on the fifty-second floor, I was sitting behind the massive oak desk in the corner office. The view of the Manhattan skyline was breathtaking, but not as beautiful as the sight of my attorney, Thaddius, laying out the financial forensics reports.
"He took the bait, exactly as you predicted," Thaddius said, adjusting his glasses. "Over the last three years, Mr. Vance siphoned exactly four point two million dollars from the corporate marketing budget into a shell company to fund his gifts for Sloan and his mother’s gambling debts."
I traced the rim of my coffee cup. For ten years, I had played the quiet, supportive wife. I had let Caldwell take the credit for my business acumen because I loved him, and because he was deeply insecure. I had built his ego, brick by brick. Now, I was tearing it down.
"Does he know about the embezzlement trap?" I asked.
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"Not yet," Thaddius smiled. "He thinks this is just a marital dispute. He’s currently filing for a divorce, demanding half of everything, claiming he was the primary breadwinner."
I laughed softly. It was a cold, hollow sound. "Let him file. Let him think he has a lifeline. When we drop the anvil, I want him looking up at it."
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