Chapter 9 - The Fall of the Vance Dynasty
While Julian was being processed in the holding cells of the Manhattan Detention Complex, Selena Cole was attempting her own desperate escape.
She had packed four designer suitcases with stolen bearer bonds, diamond jewelry, and passports, rushing toward a chartered private jet at Teterboro Airport.
She believed that her private shell accounts were still secure and that she could vanish to a non-extradition territory in South America before dawn.
However, as she handed her passport to the private terminal attendant, two plainclothes federal marshals stepped out from the VIP lounge.
They placed their hands on her wrists, informing her that her flight clearance had been revoked by order of the United States Attorney’s Office.
Selena shrieked, kicking and flailing her designer heels against the terminal floor as the marshals forced her hands behind her back.
Every single asset she had stolen from Vance Holdings had been traced, frozen, and seized by federal auditors within hours of the boardroom meeting.
She was charged as a primary co-conspirator in the attempted murder of Nora Vance, as well as multiple counts of grand larceny and wire fraud.
Three days later, I sat on the opposite side of a reinforced acrylic glass partition in the maximum-security visiting room of the precinct.
Julian sat across from me, his immaculate hair greasy and uncombed, wearing an oversized bright orange prison jumpsuit that swallowed his frame.
The arrogance that had defined his entire adult life had completely evaporated, replaced by hollow, terrified eyes that pleaded for salvation.
He placed his chained hands against the cold glass, begging me through the intercom to drop the charges for the sake of our unborn children.
He wept openly, claiming that Selena had poisoned his mind, that she had drugged him, that he had never truly intended to hurt me on that rug.
He swore that if I testified on his behalf, he would sign over every single asset he possessed and spend the rest of his life making amends to me and the twins.
I looked at the pathetic, broken shell of the man who had stepped over my dying body without shedding a single tear of remorse.
I leaned into the intercom, my voice steady, calm, and absolute in its finality.
I reminded him of his exact words on our Persian rug: he had said we were finally free, and I was here to tell him that he was right.
I told him that I was free from his cruelty, free from his narcissism, and free from the toxic legacy of his corrupt family name.
I informed him that my legal team had already filed for an expedited divorce on grounds of extreme cruelty and attempted murder.
Furthermore, a family court judge had already signed an emergency order terminating his parental rights entirely upon the birth of the twins.
Julian’s face twisted in agonized horror as he realized that he would never hold his children, never hear their voices, and never see them grow.
May you like
He began to slam his chained fists against the glass, screaming obscenities and begging for mercy as two correctional guards grabbed his shoulders.
They dragged him backward toward the iron cell blocks, his boots scraping helplessly against the concrete floor until the heavy iron door slammed shut.
