Chapter 4 - THE FORENSIC RECOVERY
By Wednesday morning, forty-eight hours after the catastrophe at the Plaza Hotel, the financial world was reeling from the catastrophic collapse of Sterling Technologies. The story of the "Fake Tech Billionaire" who insulted his secret heiress wife had exploded across every major news network, financial blog, and social media platform across the globe.
In the mahogany-paneled boardroom on the top floor of the Thornton Tower, I sat at the head of a twenty-foot glass table. Arrayed before me were six senior forensic accountants, three private investigators, and Arthur Pendelton.
"Report," I said succinctly, sipping a black tea.
A senior forensic accountant slid a thick binder across the glass. "Madam CEO, the audit of Sterling Tech's internal books is a nightmare of gross negligence and fraud. Over the past eighteen months, Jason Sterling siphoned off six point four million dollars from the R&D budget."
"Where did the money go?"
"Three million went into high-risk offshore crypto accounts that crashed last month," the auditor explained. "Another two million was spent on private jet charters, luxury watches, and a penthouse lease in Soho under the name of a former model named Chloe Laurent."
I didn't even blink. "A mistress?"
"Yes, ma'am," the private investigator chimed in, opening a secondary folder containing telephoto photographs. "He’s been seeing her for over a year. He told her that he was married to a 'homely domestic servant' whom he couldn't divorce yet due to public relations reasons surrounding his upcoming IPO. He promised to buy her a brownstone in Manhattan as soon as Sterling Tech went public."
I looked at the photographs of Jason opening champagne bottles on a yacht in Miami with the blonde model while I was at home clip-couponing to buy formula for our son.
A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "He truly was a master of self-deception. What about his mother?"
"Eleanor Sterling had a corporate credit card issued under 'Marketing Expenses,'" the investigator continued. "She spent eight hundred thousand dollars at auction houses buying antique jewelry, claiming to her country club friends that her son's genius was funding her luxury lifestyle. We’ve already served her with a court summons for asset seizure."
"Good," I said, closing the binder. "File criminal charges for corporate embezzlement, wire fraud, and grand larceny against Jason Sterling immediately. Instruct the district attorney that Thornton Enterprises will not accept a plea bargain under any circumstances. I want maximum sentencing."
"And the Soho penthouse?" Arthur asked.
"Evict the mistress by noon," I commanded calmly. "Seize every item of clothing, jewelry, and art bought with Thornton funds and put them up for public auction. Donate every cent of the proceeds to a shelter for victims of domestic abuse."
At that exact moment, my assistant tapped gently on the boardroom door. "Madam CEO... Mr. Sterling is downstairs in the lobby. He's been begging to see you for three hours. The security team is preparing to have him removed."
I looked at my watch. "No. Send him up."
Five minutes later, Jason stepped into the glass boardroom.
He looked completely unrecognizable. The sharp tailored suit and pristine grooming were gone. He was wearing a rumpled, stained shirt, his hair was unwashed, deep dark circles bruised his eyes, and his left cheek was still discolored from my slap. He looked like a man who had been dragged through hell.
"Isabella..." he rasped, his voice trembling as he looked at the wall of corporate lawyers and accountants sitting around me. "Please... just five minutes alone. I'm begging you."
I waved my hand, signaling Arthur and the team to step out. The heavy double doors clicked shut, leaving us alone high above the Manhattan skyline.
"You have two minutes, Jason," I said, leaning back in my executive chair. "Make it quick."
Jason fell to his knees on the carpet, sliding forward until his forehead touched the polished floor near my desk.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Bella!" he sobbed hysterically, his shoulders heaving. "I was blind! I was stupid! My mother manipulated me—she kept telling me I needed to act like a powerful man, that I couldn't let your mother embarrass us! I was terrified of losing my status!"
"Your status was built on a lie, Jason," I said softly.
"I know! I know now!" he wept, raising his tear-streaked face. "They’re freezing everything! The bank locked my apartment door this morning! My credit cards are declined! The police said I'm facing fifteen years in prison for wire fraud! Bella, I can't go to prison! I won't survive!"
He reached up, trying to grab the edge of my desk.
"If you ever loved me... if you ever cared about the three years we spent together in that tiny apartment... save me! Pull the charges! Give me a second chance! I'll be your butler, I'll be your driver, I'll do whatever you want! Just don't destroy me!"
I looked down at the man I had once believed was my soulmate. I felt no anger left. I felt no desire for petty vengeance. I felt only a vast, empty expanse of absolute apathy.
"Do you know what the worst part of your betrayal was, Jason?" I asked quietly.
He blinked through his tears. "W-what?"
"It wasn't the mistress in Soho," I said. "It wasn't the embezzled millions. It wasn't even the lies you told your friends."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the mahogany desk.
"It was the fact that my mother loved you like a son," I whispered. "When we were living in that small apartment, she spent three weeks knitting you a cashmere scarf for winter because she knew you couldn't afford a heavy coat. She sent us her tiny social security checks every month to help us buy groceries. And when she walked into that ballroom at the Plaza, she didn't come to show off—she came because she was proud of her son-in-law."
Jason choked on his own breath, unable to speak.
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"And you kicked the chair out from under her," I continued, my voice cold as ice. "You let her bleed on marble because her sweater was faded. You destroyed yourself, Jason. I just let the world see who you really were."
I pressed the silver intercom button on my desk. "Security. Escort Mr. Sterling out of the building. Hand him directly to the NYPD officers waiting downstairs."
