Chapter 6 - The Media Storm
By Tuesday afternoon, the scandal had erupted across every major news outlet in Chicago and national financial networks.
*“Tech and Real Estate Mogul Grant Vance Arrested in Federal Sweep Over Multi-Million-Dollar Fraud and Corporate Embezzlement.”*
The headlines flashed across the television screen in the safehouse living room while Lily and Owen played quietly with a puzzle on the rug. Reporters staked out the front gates of our suburban estate, capturing footage of moving trucks hauling away Tessa Laurent’s designer wardrobe after she was unceremoniously locked out of the mansion by federal marshals.
Tessa had tried to claim she was just an innocent guest, but financial forensic audits proved she had directly benefited from over four hundred thousand dollars in embezzled corporate funds deposited into her personal boutique business account. By Tuesday evening, she was facing accessory charges and looking at a very real possibility of federal prison time.
My phone rang constantly, but Marcus handled the barrage of media requests, lawyer inquiries, and family members scrambling to align themselves with the winning side. Aunt Betsy—who had mocked my career aspirations at holiday dinners—left three tearful voicemails claiming she always knew Grant was a monster and offering to “help with the kids.”
I deleted every single one without listening.
Around 4:00 PM, a knock sounded at the safehouse door. Marcus checked the monitor, unlocked the door, and admitted our divorce attorney, a sharp, formidable family law specialist named Eleanor Vance—no relation to Grant, thankfully.
Eleanor stepped into the living room carrying a thick leather briefcase, her expression a mix of professional triumph and deep empathy.
“Clara, how are you holding up?” Eleanor asked, stepping over to give me a warm, supportive hug. “Considering you’re eight months pregnant, you handle federal indictments better than most corporate executives.”
“I’m doing just fine, Eleanor,” I smiled, gesturing for her to sit down at the coffee table. “What’s the status of the emergency filings?”
“Unprecedented success,” Eleanor said, opening her briefcase and pulling out certified court documents. “Because of the ironclad financial evidence, the recorded threats of extortion, and Ethan’s sworn affidavit corroborating domestic psychological abuse and asset hiding, Judge Miller has granted us an immediate, ex parte temporary restraining order. You have sole physical and legal custody of Owen and Lily, full occupancy rights to the primary estate restored to your sole name, and complete freezing of all marital assets pending final settlement.”
She slid a document across the table toward me.
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“Furthermore,” Eleanor continued, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction, “since the primary estate was purchased using your pre-marital inheritance and real estate trust funds before you married Grant—a fact he desperately tried to hide—the judge has ruled that the mansion legally belongs entirely to you. Grant has zero claim to it.”
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