Chapter 3 - The Check
I reached into my bag and pulled out five more folders, passing them down the table to the other investors.
"Seventy-two hours ago, I found an email from Vivian on Daniel's tablet," I explained, my voice steady and clear. The humiliation from the salad was completely gone, replaced by the burning heat of justice. "They were discussing a lien placed on my property. My childhood home. A house I explicitly refused to mortgage or sell."
I looked at Daniel. He was pale, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish.
"They forged my signature," I continued, tapping a copy of the loan agreement that was included in their packets. "They took out a 1.2 million dollar loan against my home to cover the massive holes in Meridian's operating budget. Holes created because Vivian has been systematically draining the company's capital into her offshore accounts for the past two years."
"You lying bitch," Daniel snarled, lunging out of his chair toward me.
Before he could reach me, Marcus’s security detail—a massive, silent man who had been standing by the door of the private room—stepped forward and put a heavy hand on Daniel’s shoulder, forcing him violently back into his seat.
"Let her finish," Marcus growled.
"There's not much left to say," I said, looking around the table at the shocked, angry faces of the men who had been defrauded out of millions. "The proof is in your hands. Bank routing numbers, IP addresses from where the transfers were authorized, and the forged notary stamps on my property deed. Meridian isn't a tech company anymore. It's a piggy bank for Vivian's gambling debts and real estate ventures in Europe."
Vivian was hyperventilating. She clutched her diamond necklace, looking frantically at the glass walls of the private room. "We are leaving. Daniel, we are leaving this instant. I will not sit here and be slandered by this... this ungrateful little tramp!"
"You aren't going anywhere, Vivian," I said, checking my watch. It was 7:15 PM.
Right on cue, the heavy mahogany doors of the restaurant swung open. Through the glass walls of our private room, I watched as four uniformed police officers, flanked by two detectives in plain clothes, walked purposefully through the dining room. The patrons parted for them like the Red Sea.
Daniel turned around, following my gaze. When he saw the police, a raw, primal sound of panic escaped his throat. He looked at me, his eyes wide with terror, finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake.
"Claire... Claire, please," Daniel begged, his voice cracking. The arrogant, cruel man who had laughed at me twenty minutes ago was dead. In his place was a pathetic, sniveling child. "We can fix this. It’s a misunderstanding. I’m your husband! I love you!"
"You love my money," I said coldly. "And you loved making me feel small. But you forgot who my father was, Daniel. You forgot I know how to read a ledger."
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The door to the private room opened. Detective Miller, a tall woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, stepped inside. She glanced at the overturned chair, my ruined hair, and the terrified faces of Daniel and Vivian.
"Daniel Hayes? Vivian Hayes?" Detective Miller asked, holding up a warrant. "You're both under arrest for multiple counts of wire fraud, embezzlement, and forgery. Please stand up and place your hands behind your backs."
