Chapter 7
Richard stared at the top page of the bank statements, his eyes scanning the routing numbers and corporate letterheads. For a split second, all the color drained from his face, leaving a sickly, ashen gray beneath his tan. The polished corporate titan vanished, replaced by a cornered animal realizing the cage door had slammed shut.
“This… this is privileged information,” Richard stammered, his voice lacking its previous baritone authority. “Where did you get this?”
“Your wife,” Evelyn replied smoothly, leaning back in her chair. “Turns out Elena wasn’t too thrilled about being an accessory to grand larceny, especially after watching you toss her replacement and your infant child onto the asphalt like yesterday’s garbage.”
Richard swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply against his white dress shirt collar. He looked up at Marcus, then back at Evelyn, searching for any sign of weakness or bluff. Finding none, he slumped back against the metal chair, his expensive gold watch catching the dim light of the overhead fixture.
“She doesn’t know everything,” Richard whispered defensively. “The board... they were pressuring me. The real estate market in the third quarter took a massive downturn. I had to bridge the gap. The shell corporations were just temporary measures to keep liquidity flowing until our next commercial development cleared.”
“Embezzlement isn’t bridging a gap, Mr. Sterling. It’s theft,” Marcus interjected, crossing his arms. “And using a twenty-four-year-old girl and a newborn baby as getaway cargo across state lines crosses from white-collar crime straight into kidnapping and endangerment.”
“I didn’t kidnap them!” Richard snapped, his temper flaring up again before dying just as quickly under the cold reality of the room. He rubbed his face with both hands, messing up his carefully styled dark hair. “Chloe wanted to leave the city anyway. She was complaining about the apartment, about the neighbors, about me not spending enough time with the baby. I told her we were taking a trip. It wasn’t an expulsion; it was a relocation.”
“On the shoulder of I-95, without a purse, without diapers, without a phone, in the middle of the afternoon?” Evelyn challenged, her voice razor-sharp. “That’s a strange way to pack for a family road trip.”
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Richard fell silent. He knew how it sounded. He knew how it looked on a police report, and more importantly, he knew how a federal jury would perceive a wealthy, married executive dumping his mistress and infant daughter on a desolate stretch of highway to save his own skin.
“The federal agents are walking down the hall right now, Mr. Sterling,” Evelyn said, standing up and smoothing her uniform shirt. “You can tell your story to them. But I guarantee you, the judge won’t care about your third-quarter real estate losses.”
