Chapter 7 - The Legal Trap
Before Tyler could process my words, the heavy front door of the penthouse swung open with a crisp click.
Marcus stepped into the foyer, accompanied by a tall, sharp-looking woman in a tailored navy blue suit holding a thick leather portfolio. It was Victoria Vance—no relation to Tyler, thankfully—my personal corporate attorney and one of the most ruthless litigators in Manhattan.
Tyler spun around, his eyes widening in panic as he recognized the lawyer. “Victoria? What are you doing here?”
Victoria didn't even acknowledge Tyler. She walked straight past him, stopping in front of me and offering a crisp, professional nod.
“Good morning, Olivia,” Victoria said, opening her leather portfolio. “Everything is in place. The temporary restraining order has been filed, and the divorce petition is ready for signature.”
Tyler stumbled backward, colliding against the living room wall. “Divorce? Are you out of your mind? You can’t just divorce me over a weekend argument!”
“It’s not just a weekend argument, Mr. Vance,” Victoria said calmly, turning her sharp gaze toward him. “It’s a formal dissolution of marriage based on financial exploitation, emotional abuse, and hostile endangerment.”
“Endangerment?” Tyler scoffed, laughing hysterically. “What are you talking about? She fell in a pool!”
“She was physically assaulted by your relatives while you actively encouraged and recorded the act,” Victoria corrected her, her voice chillingly precise. “Furthermore, our forensic accountants have spent the last twelve hours auditing the joint accounts. It appears you have systematically transferred over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars of corporate partnership funds into unauthorized personal accounts controlled by your mother and brother over the last eighteen months.”
Tyler’s face went entirely slack. The color drained from his skin so fast he looked like a corpse.
“That... that’s not true,” Tyler stammered, shaking his head frantically. “That was... that was family investment!”
“That is federal wire fraud and embezzlement,” Victoria stated matter-of-factly, pulling a stack of printed bank records from her portfolio and holding them up. “We have the transaction logs, the IP addresses, and your mother’s written instructions instructing you to siphon the funds. You have two choices, Tyler: you can sign the uncontested divorce settlement right now, forfeit all claims to marital assets, and pack your things; or we hand this entire file over to the Manhattan District Attorney’s office before noon.”
The silence in the penthouse was suffocating.
May you like
Tyler looked at Victoria, then looked at me. He realized, with sudden, terrifying clarity, that there was no escape hatch. There was no bailout coming. The game was over.
---
