Chapter 6 - The Parking Lot Reckoning
The restaurant manager quietly guided the two disgraced conspirators and the investigators toward the private valet exit to avoid a public riot in the main dining room.
Outside in the crisp Chicago night air, the flashing red and blue strobe lights of two unmarked police cruisers illuminated the wet asphalt.
Daniel and I stood on the sidewalk under the warm glow of the streetlamps, watching as uniformed officers from the Financial Crimes Unit unholstered heavy steel handcuffs.
“Vanessa Mercer,” Officer Miller announced, clicking the cold metal around her manicured wrists. “You are being detained for questioning in connection with felony corporate fraud and money laundering.”
“Daniel! Tell them to stop!” Vanessa wailed, her designer coat dragging against the cruiser's fender. “I’m your wife! You can’t let them take me to jail!”
Daniel looked at her, his expression free of anger, free of bitterness—filled only with the clean, immovable finality of a man who had reclaimed his self-respect.
“You gave up the right to call yourself my wife the moment you stole from our family to fund your hotel rooms, Vanessa,” Daniel said calmly. “My attorneys will deliver the divorce papers to the county detention center tomorrow morning.”
Andrew was escorted out next, his wrists cuffed behind his back, his navy shirt rumpled and stained.
He stopped in front of me, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Claire... please,” Andrew choked out. “Don’t leave me with nothing. I’ll go to prison. I have nothing left.”
I looked at him, feeling no rage, no desire to scream. I opened my hand and let the little gift bag containing the vintage silver watch drop onto the wet pavement at his feet.
May you like
“Happy anniversary, Andrew,” I whispered.
The officers guided him into the back of the squad car, and the doors slammed shut with a heavy, echoing thud.
