Chapter 7
Z
The morning sun broke over Washington, D.C., casting a warm golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the federal courthouse. But inside the corridors, the atmosphere was as cold as a morgue.
Two weeks had passed since the night in my father’s study, and the fallout had been catastrophic.
The photos of the financial ledgers I had captured were turned over to the United States Attorney’s Office. What began as a domestic assault charge had rapidly escalated into a full-scale federal corruption investigation. My father’s political campaign had collapsed overnight; his major donors pulled their funding within hours of the news breaking, and his name was splashed across every major news network in the country: CANDIDATE ARTHUR VANCE UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR DECADE-OLD FINANCIAL COVER-UP.
I sat on a wooden bench outside Courtroom 3B, wearing a simple navy blue suit. Ethan sat beside me, his arm wrapped firmly around my shoulders. Across the hallway stood my father, looking frail and hollowed out. He was accompanied by a public defender—he could no longer afford the high-priced private defense attorneys he used to brag about.
He looked toward me, his eyes full of a pathetic, desperate sorrow, but I looked straight ahead. The grief of losing him as a father had already passed; all that was left was the cold reality of consequences.
The heavy double doors opened, and Diane’s legal team emerged.
Even facing federal indictments, Diane refused to look defeated. She was dressed in an immaculate cream-colored Chanel suit, her hair styled perfectly, hiding the faint scar on her forehead with artful bangs. Beside her was Richard Sterling—her wealthy, ruthless older brother, a hedge-fund tycoon from Manhattan whom she had called in as her final line of defense.
Richard stopped in front of me, leaning heavily on his silver-topped cane, casting a disgusted look at Ethan and me.
"So you're the little girl causing all this trouble," Richard said, his voice dripping with condescension. "You think you're clever, downloading private files and wearing wires. You think you've won."
"Mr. Sterling," Ethan said, standing up to his full height, his posture imposing. "Back off."
Richard chuckled dryly. "Young man, you have no idea how deep my family's pockets are. My sister might be taking a plea deal on the misdemeanor assault, but as for the federal conspiracy charges? We're going to tie this up in appeals for the next decade. Natalie won't see a single cent from her mother's estate, and by the time we're done, her reputation will be so dragged through the mud she won't be able to get a job at a car wash."
"Is that a threat, Mr. Sterling?" Marcus walked up behind us, holding a sleek black tablet, a dark smile playing on his lips. "Because I'm pretty sure threatening a key federal witness in a courthouse hallway is a felony."
Richard’s eyes narrowed at Marcus. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm the guy who spent the last forty-eight hours digging into your hedge fund, Mr. Sterling," Marcus said smoothly, tapping the screen of his tablet. "It’s funny, really. When we started investigating the shell company Diane used to steal that $412,000 back in 2012—D.S. Capital Holdings—we found something fascinating. The secondary signatory on that offshore account wasn't Arthur Vance. It was you."
The air completely left Richard’s lungs. His smug, arrogant expression froze, his grip tightening on his cane until his knuckles turned bone-white.
Diane’s head snapped toward her brother, her eyes wide with sudden panic. "Richard... what is he talking about?"
"It seems Diane wasn't acting alone twelve years ago," Marcus continued, turning the tablet so Richard could see the financial flow charts. "She embezzled the money from her firm, but she funneled it directly into your struggling fund to bail you out of a margin call. You used your sister to commit financial fraud, and when she got caught, you helped her find Arthur Vance to cover it up."
"That's... that's absolute absurd nonsense," Richard stammered, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead. "You have no proof of—"
"The U.S. Attorney’s Office already has the subpoenas signed, Richard," Marcus interrupted cheerfully. "FBI agents are probably serving the search warrants at your Manhattan offices right about now."
Richard stared at the tablet, his face turning an unhealthy shade of crimson. He didn't say another word. He turned on his heel and hurried down the corridor, abandoning his sister without looking back.
"Richard!" Diane screamed, her regal composure finally shattering into utter panic. "Richard, wait! Come back here!"
She tried to chase after him, but her bail officer stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
"Mrs. Vance," the officer said sternly. "The judge is ready for you."
Diane turned around slowly, looking at me. For the first time since this nightmare began, I saw true, naked fear in her eyes. She was no longer the mastermind. She was no longer the cruel stepmother controlling my fate. She was a isolated, desperate woman facing the total annihilation of her wealth, her social standing, and her freedom.
"Natalie..." she whispered, her voice cracking, her hands trembling as she reached out to me. "Please... talk to the prosecutor. We're family..."
I looked at her, feeling no anger, no satisfaction—only a deep, profound sense of release.
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"We were never family, Diane," I said softly. "You were just a temporary intruder in my mother's home."
I turned my back on her and walked toward the court room doors, leaving her to face the judge alone.
