Chapter 3 - The King of Quicksand
The flight from Paris to Chicago took nine hours. For Evan Whitman, it was the longest nine hours of his life.
Without his corporate black card or his personal credit lines, he had been forced to use the mistress’s card to pay for a cheap, last-minute economy ticket back to the United States. His mistress, a twenty-five-year-old assistant from his firm’s marketing department named Chloe, had not been pleased. The romantic illusion of their Parisian escape had shattered the moment the hotel manager threatened to call the gendarmerie if they didn't vacate the suite immediately.
Chloe had stayed in Paris, screaming at him that he was a fraud, while Evan had been forced to sit in a middle seat in the last row of the plane, smelling of stale sweat and cheap airline coffee.
When he finally landed at O'Hare International Airport, he was exhausted, furious, and ready to tear Claire apart.
He took a cab straight to their home in Lincoln Park. He had his speech prepared. He would tell her she was crazy. He would tell her the photos were a misunderstanding—that Chloe was a client’s daughter he was escorting as a favor to his father. He would play the victim, gaslight her until she apologized, and then force her to unfreeze the accounts.
He walked up the front steps, his key sliding into the lock.
He turned it.
The key wouldn't move.
He frowned, jiggling the key, pushing against the heavy oak door. It was completely frozen.
He tried his key again, his frustration mounting. He knocked on the door, his fist rattling the glass panes.
“Claire!” he shouted. “Claire, open the door! I know you're in there!”
The door opened.
But it wasn't Claire who stood in the entryway.
It was two large men in dark blue suits, their arms crossed over their chests. Behind them stood Charles, Claire’s father, his expression as cold and hard as granite.
“What the hell is this?” Evan gasped, stepping back. “Where is my wife? This is my house!”
“Not anymore, Evan,” Charles said, his voice dangerously quiet. “The locks have been changed. Your personal belongings have been packed and delivered to your parents’ home in Lake Forest. You are no longer welcome on this property.”
“You can't do this!” Evan screamed, his face turning red. “My name is on the deed!”
“Actually, Evan, the deed to this house was purchased with a trust fund set up by Claire's grandmother,” Charles said, stepping forward. “Our lawyers have already filed an emergency petition for exclusive occupancy of the marital home, citing financial abuse and marital waste. A judge signed it three hours ago.”
Charles held out a thick white envelope.
“You’ve been served,” Charles said, sliding the envelope into the pocket of Evan’s wrinkled suit jacket. “Welcome back to Chicago.”
The door slammed in his face.
Evan stood on the steps, his chest heaving, his mind racing. He pulled the envelope from his pocket, his hands shaking as he tore it open.
Inside were the divorce petition, the emergency restraining order, and a temporary asset-freezing injunction that blocked him from accessing not only their joint accounts, but any accounts registered under Aegis Holdings LLC.
His heart stopped.
Aegis Holdings.
How did she know? How could she possibly have found out about Aegis?
He snatched his phone from his pocket and dialed his father’s number.
“Dad,” Evan choked out the moment Ron answered. “She knows. Claire knows about Aegis. She’s frozen everything. I can't access the Cayman accounts.”
There was a long, terrible silence on the other end of the line. When Ron finally spoke, his voice sounded twenty years older.
“Evan... get to the office right now.”
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“Why? What’s happening?”
“The federal regulators are here,” Ron whispered. “And they brought a warrant.”
