Chapter 8 - The Ghost at the Gate
The morning air in the North Shore suburb carried the crisp, sharp scent of impending winter. I stood in the master bedroom of the sprawling house Grant and I had shared, watching movers load cardboard boxes into a grey van parked on the slate driveway.
Every box was labeled with a single red sticker: Mercer Foundation Restitution.
The house didn't feel like a home anymore. It never really had. It was a structure built on false pretenses, paid for by the inflated ego of a man who thought he could outsmart an empire.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A secure alert from my private legal assistant.
*“Madam Chairwoman, Vanessa Reed’s counsel has formally petitioned the district court for a deposition waiver, offering to turn over all encrypted communications between her, Grant, and Markus Reed regarding the secondary asset stripping scheme.”*
I smiled faintly, locking the screen.
May you like
“Let her testify,” I whispered to the empty room. “Truth is the only thing they can’t buy their way out of.”
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