Chapter 8 - The Streetlights of Seaport
The cold autumn wind off Boston Harbor whipped through the modern high-rises of the Seaport district, carrying the sound of shattering glass.
Julian stood on the cobblestone pavement outside Camilla’s luxury residential building, kicking at a designer suitcase lying open on the ground.
Silk blouses, expensive shoes, and jewelry cases lay scattered across the wet stones, soaked in the falling rain.
Camilla leaned over the second-floor balcony above, her wet hair clinging to her face as she hurled another armful of Julian’s belongings over the railing.
“Get away from my home, Julian!” she screamed into the night, her voice raw with hysteria.
“The FBI has already frozen my accounts because of you!”
“Throw down the rest of the offshore access keys, you thieving whore!” Julian bellowed back, his suit soaked through, his eyes bloodshot and wild.
“You took sixty percent of the Apex distributions! You’re just as guilty as I am!”
Several residents had their windows open, filming the entire spectacle on their smartphones as blue police cruisers rounded the distant corner.
I stepped out of my town car twenty yards away, sheltered beneath a broad black umbrella held by my security detail.
Julian froze as he spotted me standing under the streetlamp, his chest heaving like a cornered animal.
He dropped the torn documents he had stolen from my vault into a muddy puddle at his feet.
“Nora,” he gasped, stumbling toward me across the wet pavement, his hands outstretched in a frantic plea.
“Nora, tell them to call off the warrants! I have the papers! We can negotiate!”
“There is nothing left to negotiate, Julian,” I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the drizzle.
He stopped three feet from me, kept at bay by the immovable presence of my two security guards.
“I loved you!” he cried out, his voice cracking with pathetic self-delusion.
“Everything I did, I did to build an empire worthy of being your husband!”
“You didn't do this for me, Julian,” I told him, looking into the hollow eyes of the man I once thought was my protector.
“You did this because you couldn't stomach the thought that your wife was born with the power you spent your entire life chasing.”
He looked down at his ruined clothes, then up at Camilla’s balcony, where two uniformed police officers were already stepping into view.
“I have nothing left,” he whispered, his shoulders sagging as the fight completely drained out of him.
“You took my job, you took my reputation, you took my home.”
“I took nothing that belonged to you,” I replied, stepping back toward the warmth of the town car.
“I simply took back what you stole from me and my mother.”
Three police cruisers pulled onto the curb, their red and blue flashlights painting Julian’s pale face in garish, shifting colors.
Two federal marshals stepped out of the lead vehicle, badges glinting beneath the streetlamps.
“Julian Sterling,” the lead marshal announced, unholstering a pair of steel handcuffs.
“You are under arrest for wire fraud, corporate espionage, and federal conspiracy.”
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Julian didn't run; he didn't even speak.
He simply let the cold steel click around his wrists, his eyes locked on mine as they guided his head down into the back of the cruiser.
