Chapter 4 - The confrontation at the LoungeZ
At 4:30 PM, the rain began to fall over downtown Denver, painting the asphalt with dark, shimmering reflections of neon signs. The Velvet Lounge sat nestled in a trendy, brick-lined alleyway off Blake Street. From the outside, it looked like an exclusive, velvet-curtained speakeasy for the city's upwardly mobile crowd.
Inside, it was a crime scene of stolen money.
I pushed open the heavy brass doors, accompanied by Marcus Vance and two imposing, uniformed private investigators hired by Vance & Associates. The low hum of jazz played over the speakers, and the soft amber lighting illuminated plush velvet booths, marble bar tops, and expensive crystal glassware.
Sitting at the far end of the bar, sipping a glass of champagne and laughing loudly, was Ethan Mercer.
Sitting next to him, her arm draped casually around his neck, was a stunning brunette with heavily contoured makeup and an oversized diamond ring on her hand—Julianna Vance. Standing near the bar entrance, holding a leather shopping bag from Nordstrom, was Diane Mercer, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
The moment the glass door closed behind us, the bell above the entrance chimed softly. Ethan turned around, a casual smile on his face expecting another customer.
When his eyes landed on me, standing flanked by Marcus and two six-foot-four security officers in suit jackets, his glass slipped. It shattered on the hardwood floor, spilling champagne across his polished Italian leather shoes.
“Claire?” Ethan stuttered, pushing himself up from the bar stool so fast he almost knocked it over. “What… what the hell are you doing here? How did you find this place?”
Diane gasped, clutching her Nordstrom bag to her chest like a shield. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?! Ethan, call the police! She’s stalking us!”
“I wouldn't advise calling the police, Mrs. Mercer,” Marcus Vance said, stepping forward with a crisp, black leather briefcase in hand. “Unless, of course, you’d like them to execute the felony arrest warrant we currently have drafted for your son.”
Julianna Vance’s eyes widened. She looked between Ethan and me, her smile completely disappearing. “Ethan… who is this? Who are these people?”
“Shut up, Julianna!” Ethan snapped, his composure completely disintegrating. He took three aggressive steps toward me, but my two security officers immediately stepped forward, blocking his path with immovable, muscular presence.
“Stay right there, Mr. Mercer,” one of the guards said in a booming, low voice.
“Claire, you’ve lost your damn mind!” Ethan yelled, pointing a finger past the guards at me. “You show up at my business with private security? You’re acting like a psychotic, jealous ex! We broke up last night! It’s over! Get out of my bar!”
“Your bar?” I said, stepping into the dim light of the lounge, my voice ringing out clearly against the brick walls. “It’s funny you call it your bar, Ethan. Because according to these public loan documents from Apex Capital, this bar was purchased using a two-hundred-thousand-dollar guarantor loan.”
Ethan’s face went from angry red to a ghostly, chalky white.
“What are you talking about?” Julianna interjected, looking terrified. “Ethan put up his personal real estate portfolio to buy into this lounge! He’s the principal investor!”
“He’s a thief,” I said, turning my eyes to Julianna with cold pity. “He forged my signature as a guarantor on a private bridge loan four months ago. He stole my credit, my financial disclosures, and my name to get that money. And then he gave fifty thousand of it to his mother for her Mercedes payments, and used the rest to buy his way into your lap.”
Julianna gasped, dropping her glass. She rounded on Ethan, her voice rising to a shrill scream. “Ethan! Is this true?! You told me you sold a commercial parcel in Colorado Springs! You told me that money was from your inheritance!”
“She’s lying!” Ethan stammered, sweating profusely now, his hands shaking violently as he pulled out his phone. “She’s trying to destroy me because I cancelled the wedding! She’s insane!”
“Marcus,” I said softly. “Show him.”
Marcus opened his briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of legal documents, and slapped them down onto the polished marble bartop directly in front of Ethan.
“This is a formal Notice of Confession of Judgment and Fraudulent Conveyance Injunction,” Marcus announced loudly so everyone in the bar could hear. “We have already filed an emergency lis pendens on the Aurora property, froze the holding company accounts for The Velvet Lounge, and placed a legal lien on Mrs. Diane Mercer’s bank accounts for receiving illicit proceeds from a felony wire fraud.”
Diane let out a blood-curdling screech. “My bank account?! You can’t touch my money! That was a gift from my son!”
“It was stolen money, Mrs. Mercer,” Marcus replied coldly. “And under Colorado Revised Statutes, receiving stolen funds over twenty-five thousand dollars carries a maximum sentence of twelve years in state prison. If you don't return the cash by five o’clock tomorrow, you will be named as a co-conspirator in federal court.”
Diane collapsed onto one of the velvet leather booths, clutching her chest and hyperventilating.
Ethan stared at the legal documents on the bar, his eyes skimming over the copies of his own forged signatures, the bank transfer receipts, and the mobile notary’s confession statement that Marcus’s team had already obtained earlier that afternoon.
The trap had closed. He had no escape, no legal defense, and no money left to hire a lawyer capable of fighting Marcus Vance.
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a terrifying mixture of pure hatred and utter defeat. “What do you want, Claire?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “What do you want from me?”
I walked right up to him, stopping just inches from his face, looking down at the man who had tried to play me for a fool.
“I want everything, Ethan,” I said softly, every word cut like glass. “You are going to sign over the full deed of the Aurora condo to my asset company for one dollar. You are going to sign over your entire percentage of The Velvet Lounge to me. You are going to surrender your mother’s luxury vehicle to the lender, and you are going to write a full written confession of your forgery.”
“And if I don't?” Ethan spat, tears of rage welling up in his eyes.
“If you don't sign these papers within ten minutes,” I said, checking my gold wrist watch, “Marcus presses send on his iPad. The FBI Financial Crimes Unit receives the digital evidence package, and you spend the next ten to fifteen years of your life sitting in a federal penitentiary eating cafeteria food.”
Silence descended over the bar, heavy and lethal.
Julianna stepped back from Ethan as if he were covered in poison, snatching her designer purse off the bar stool. “You disgusting, lying loser,” she spat at Ethan, before turning on her high heels and storming out of the lounge, slamming the heavy door behind her.
May you like
Ethan stood alone at the bar, surrounded by the legal documents that proved his absolute downing. He looked at his mother, who was sobbing hysterically into her hands, and then back at me.
“Sign the papers, Ethan,” I whispered. “Or go to jail.”
