Chapter 7 - The Mistress Turns Witness
Twenty-four hours after Grant’s bail was denied,
Natalie Vale stood in the middle of her Tribeca living room,
clutching a silk robe tightly around her waist.
Two federal marshals and a court-appointed receiver were carefully itemizing her possessions.
A pair of white-gloved agents carried a dozen designer handbags out of her walk-in closet.
Another agent was documenting the oil paintings hanging on her walls.
"You can't take those!"
Natalie screamed,
her voice shrill with hysteria.
"Those belong to me!"
"I earned them!"
"Miss Vale,"
the court receiver said calmly,
reading from a clip board,
"these items were purchased using funds transferred directly from Whitmore Urban Holdings' escrow accounts."
"They represent proceeds of criminal fraud."
"Every ring,"
"every necklace,"
"every luxury bag,"
"and the lease on this apartment are now federal property."
"You have two hours to pack one suitcase of personal clothing and vacate the premises."
Natalie dropped onto her leather sofa,
burying her face in her hands as silent sobs wracked her body.
Her phone,
which had been ringing non-stop for two days,
buzzed once more.
It was not a luxury client.
It was not a fashion magazine editor.
It was her agency director,
informing her that her contract had been terminated with immediate effect due to public scandal.
Before she could even process the news,
a knock sounded at her door.
A sharp-suited woman with short dark hair and a leather portfolio walked inside.
She introduced herself as Prosecutor Brenda Lawson from the Southern District of New York.
"Miss Vale,"
Prosecutor Lawson said,
sitting down on the chair opposite Natalie.
"You are currently facing potential indictment as a co-conspirator in a federal wire fraud and money laundering operation."
"The paper trail shows you received over one point two million dollars in illicit transfers from Grant Whitmore."
Natalie looked up,
her eyes wide with terror.
"I didn't know!"
she wept.
"He told me it was his personal money!"
"He told me he was divorcing his wife!"
"He lied to me!"
Prosecutor Lawson leaned forward,
her eyes hard as steel.
"Ignorance is not a legal defense,"
"Miss Vale."
"However,"
"the government is primarily interested in securing a conviction against Grant Whitmore."
"His wife,
Claire Whitmore,"
"has provided us with an extraordinary amount of documentation,"
"but we need testimony regarding his personal intent."
"We need to know every promise he made,"
"every secret meeting he held,"
"and every expense he covered for you."
"If you agree to testify against Grant in open court,"
"and if you surrender every piece of jewelry and asset he gave you,"
"the federal government will offer you full immunity from prosecution."
Natalie didn't hesitate for a single second.
The love she had professed for Grant,
the passion they had shared in luxury hotels,
the grand dreams of replacing Claire as Mrs. Whitmore—
all of it evaporated in an instant.
"I'll tell you everything,"
Natalie whispered,
wiping her tear-stained face.
"I have every text message he ever sent me."
"I have every receipt,"
"every voicemail,"
"and every flight confirmation."
"I'll give you whatever you want."
"Just don't send me to prison."
Prosecutor Lawson smiled grimly,
opening her briefcase to extract a cooperation agreement.
In her quiet seaside cottage four hundred miles away,
May you like
Claire had anticipated this exact moment.
She knew that loyalty built on stolen money would always break at the first sign of pressure.
