Chapter 5
The heavy oak doors of L’Étoile clicked shut behind the two newcomers, whose sharp, purposeful strides immediately drew the attention of the maître d'. They didn't look like ordinary upscale diners; their posture was rigid, their dark overcoats buttoned to the chin despite the indoor climate, and their eyes scanned the room with practiced, tactical efficiency. Julian watched them approach in the peripheral of his vision, a cold dread pooling in his stomach.
Clara didn't even turn her head to look at them. She simply raised two fingers in a subtle, casual gesture, and the two men veered away from the service station, walking directly toward their table.
Julian gripped the edge of the tablecloth. “Who are they, Clara? What is happening here?”
“They are representatives of the federal prosecutor’s office, Julian,” Clara said smoothly, her eyes locked onto his panicked face. “And federal marshals specializing in corporate white-collar crime. Remember those thirty international accounts tied to your private residential server? Well, the compliance audit didn’t just trace them to Zurich. It also flagged illegal offshore tax evasion, money laundering, and the systematic looting of the employee pension fund at Vance Enterprises.”
Julian shot out of his chair once more, his chair scraping loudly against the polished hardwood floor, drawing sharp glances from the surrounding tables.
“You set me up!” Julian yelled, his voice cracking with panic as he realized the true magnitude of the disaster. “You transferred those funds through my IP address! You framed me!”
“Did I?” Clara asked innocently, tilting her head as she watched him unravel. “The digital forensic logs show that every single transaction was authenticated using your personal biometric hardware key—the little titanium USB fob you keep locked in your private wall safe at home.”
Julian froze. He reached instinctively inside the breast pocket of his black suit, his fingers searching frantically for the cold metal weight of his master security key.
His pocket was completely empty.
His face turned the color of chalk. He patted down his other pockets with frantic, trembling hands, turning out the linings of his trousers, searching for the key that granted access to every single corporate bank account he owned. It was gone. He had left it in his wall safe this morning—or so he had thought.
“How... how did you get the key?” Julian whispered, his knees shaking so badly he had to grip the back of his chair for support.
Clara calmly reached into her red evening bag and pulled out a small, sleek titanium rectangle attached to a leather keychain. She laid it gently on the white tablecloth right beside the towering stack of restaurant bills.
“You really are a terrible sleeper, Julian,” Clara said softly, a dangerous glint in her green eyes. “You talk in your sleep. And you keep the combination to your wall safe written on a sticky note behind your favorite whiskey decanter. It was almost too easy.”
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The two federal agents reached their table, stopping precisely three feet away. The taller of the two pulled a leather badge case from his coat, flashing a gold shield under the amber chandelier light.
“Mr. Julian Vance?” the agent asked, his voice flat and authoritative. “You are under arrest for corporate fraud, embezzlement, and money laundering.”
