Chapter 4 - The Mistress’s Cracking Veneer
While Grant was being led out of his corporate tower in handcuffs,
Natalie Vale was lounging in her luxury high-rise apartment in Tribeca.
She was wearing a silk robe,
sipping a mimosa,
and admiring the thirty-eight thousand dollar diamond bracelet glistening on her wrist.
She was waiting for Grant's call.
They were supposed to spend the weekend in the Hamptons while he lied to Claire about a corporate retreat in Boston.
Her phone finally buzzed on the glass coffee table.
She picked it up,
expecting Grant's breathless voice.
Instead,
it was her manager at the luxury branding agency where she worked.
"Natalie,"
her manager said without greeting.
"Turn on the news."
Natalie frowned,
setting her drink down.
"What are you talking about?"
"Just turn on CNBC right now,"
the manager demanded.
Natalie picked up the remote and switched on the television.
The screen displayed a breaking news banner in bright red letters:
BULL STREET REAL ESTATE TYCOON GRANT WHITMORE ARRESTED FOR FRAUD AND EMBEZZLEMENT.
A video played of Grant being escorted toward a black sedan by federal agents,
his face pale,
his hands cuffed behind his back.
The news anchor's voice filled the living room.
"Sources confirm that Whitmore Urban Holdings faces immediate liquidation following evidence provided by his pregnant wife,
Claire Whitmore."
"Reports indicate Whitmore illegally diverted millions in corporate funds to support a lavish secret lifestyle,"
"including substantial transfers to luxury fashion consultant Natalie Vale."
Natalie’s heart stopped.
Her name had just been broadcast to millions of viewers across the country.
Within seconds,
her phone began buzzing uncontrollably with text messages,
notifications,
and calls from news outlets,
friends,
and corporate clients.
A heavy knock rattled her front door.
She walked over cautiously,
peering through the peephole.
Two police officers and a legal process server stood outside.
She pulled the door open an inch.
"Natalie Vale?"
the process server asked.
"Yes..."
she whispered.
The man handed her a thick legal document.
"You are being served with a civil subpoena regarding the recovery of stolen corporate assets."
"All luxury goods,
jewelry,
vehicles,
and financial gifts received from Grant Whitmore over the past eighteen months have been placed under a federal freeze order."
"You are prohibited from selling,
moving,
or liquidating any of these items."
Natalie stared at the papers in horror.
"This is a mistake!"
she shrieked.
"These were gifts!"
"Gifts purchased with embezzled funds,"
the officer replied coldly.
"If you attempt to hide or transfer any of these assets,"
"you will be charged with obstruction of justice and conspiracy."
They turned and walked down the hallway.
Natalie slammed the door shut,
leaning against it as tears of rage and humiliation spilled down her cheeks.
She looked at the diamond bracelet on her wrist.
The very object that had represented her victory over Claire Whitmore was now nothing more than evidence in a federal crime.
She tried to call Grant’s personal lawyer,
but the call went straight to voicemail.
Grant was broke.
His company was dead.
His reputation was ruined.
And Natalie realized,
with horrifying clarity,
May you like
that Claire had not just punished her husband.
She had completely destroyed the woman who tried to step into her shoes.
