Chapter 13: The Fall of the Titans
Marcus Sterling, CEO of Vanguard Financial, was a man used to operating in the shadows. But I had dragged him into the glaring, unforgiving light of the sun.
Three days after my Good Morning America interview, the FBI raided Vanguard's downtown Chicago headquarters.
I watched it live on the news with David, the IT guy, who had come over to set up a state-of-the-art security system for my house, funded entirely by my father's downfall.
On the TV screen, federal agents were carrying dozens of cardboard boxes out of the sleek glass skyscraper. Moments later, Marcus Sterling emerged, his hands cuffed behind his back, a jacket draped over his wrists to hide the shame.
"They got him," David said, eating a slice of pizza on my couch. "They traced the embezzlement cover-up. It turns out, Arthur Hayes wasn't the only billionaire Sterling was doing dirty favors for. You didn't just open a can of worms, Evelyn. You blew up the whole factory."
"Good," I said, taking a sip of my coffee. "Let them rot."
Suddenly, David’s laptop pinged. He had tapped into the new security cameras surrounding my property.
"Uh, Evelyn?" David frowned, sitting up straight. "There's a black SUV parked at the end of your street. It’s been sitting there for twenty minutes. The license plate is obscured."
I walked over to the screen. Sure enough, a tinted SUV was idling ominously in the shadows of the large oak trees.
"Sterling's private investigators?" I asked.
"Or the bookies Preston owes money to," David warned. "They might think you have access to the Hayes family money."
I didn't panic. I just smiled.
"David," I said calmly. "Can you isolate the IP address of the cell phones inside that car using the network scanner we set up?"
David’s fingers flew across the keyboard. "Yeah. I’ve got three pings. What do you want to do?"
"Send them a text message," I said. "Tell them they are parked on a public street, currently being live-streamed to 1.5 million followers on my TikTok account, and if they don't leave in exactly ten seconds, I'm sending their coordinates to the FBI agents currently raiding Vanguard."
David grinned. He typed the message, hit enter, and we watched the monitor.
May you like
Exactly eight seconds later, the brake lights of the SUV flashed red, the tires squealed against the asphalt, and the car sped away, disappearing into the night.
"Wolves," I muttered, shaking my head. "They're only brave when you're afraid of them."
