He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the back of an armchair. “Richard Vance set me up. Julian, you know who Vance is. He’s a monster. Six months ago, he invited me to his yacht in Lake Michigan. They slipped something into my drink. I woke up in a hotel room with a woman who wasn’t Blythe, with cameras rolling. Richard told me that if I didn’t authorize the initial three-million-dollar wire transfer from the Ashcroft reserves, those photos and videos would be sent to the board, to the press, and to my parents.”
Julian let out a cold, humorless scoff. “So you decided to commit grand larceny and corporate treason to save your own reputation?”
“I panicked!” Conrad sobbed. “I thought I could replace the money! Richard swore on his daughter’s life that his firm was closing a multi-billion-dollar acquisition in Singapore, and that he would wire the Ashcroft accounts fifteen million dollars—giving us a four-hundred-thousand-dollar profit for our ‘troubles.’ But the money never came! Every week, Blythe would demand more! She wanted a million-dollar diamond necklace flown in from Antwerp! She wanted three private Boeing 737s chartered for her bridesmaids! When I told her the accounts were empty, she told me that if I didn’t pull from the capital improvements fund, her father would release the blackmail tape immediately!”
Conrad thrust the manila folder onto the desk.
“Everything is in here,” Conrad wept. “The text messages from Blythe. The audio recordings of Richard Vance threatening to break my legs and destroy my life. The bank account routing numbers where Richard’s offshore entities received the stolen Ashcroft funds. I saved every receipt, Nina. Every single one.”
Julian pulled the folder toward him, snapping on a pair of thin latex gloves. He opened the file, his sharp eyes scanning the documents. After three silent minutes, he looked up at me and gave a subtle, definitive nod.
“It’s a clean smoking gun on Richard Vance,” Julian whispered. “He personally signed the shell entity authorizations. He didn’t just accept the funds; he directed the wire transfers.”
I walked over to Conrad. He flinched, expecting rage.
Instead, I looked at him with profound pity.
“You threw away your talent, your honor, and your future for a family that viewed you as nothing more than an ATM with a hotel key, Conrad.”
“I know,” he whispered, his shoulders shaking. “God help me, I know.”
“Here is what is going to happen,” I said, my voice leaving no room for negotiation. “You are going to sleep tonight in a secured room on the fourth floor under twenty-four-hour guard. Tomorrow morning at seven sharp, Julian is turning this entire folder over to the United States Attorney’s Office and the Securities and Exchange Commission. You will walk in, surrender yourself, plead guilty to corporate fraud, and agree to act as the primary state’s witness against Richard and Blythe Vance.”
Conrad looked up, horror and relief warring in his tear-stained face. “Will I go to prison?”
“That is up to the judge and the federal prosecutors,” I said without blinking. “You stole from me. You endangered the livelihoods of every single employee in this building. You don’t walk away from that unscathed. But if you cooperate, Julian will ensure you don’t spend twenty years in a federal penitentiary. That is the only mercy you will receive from me.”
Conrad dropped his head, tears dripping onto the hardwood floor. “Thank you, Nina. Thank you.”
Marcus led the broken man out of the room.
Julian turned to me, closing the folder. “We have Vance dead to rights on federal bank fraud and conspiracy, Nina. But Richard Vance is an animal backed into a corner. When he finds out Conrad flipped, he won’t roll over. And Blythe… Blythe has three million followers on social media and a PR machine at her fingertips.”
As if on cue, my private phone chimed on the desk.
It was an alert from the hotel’s public relations monitoring software.
I tapped the screen.
A video had just been posted to Instagram and TikTok by Blythe Vance.
Under the glowing vanity lights of her penthouse, tears streamed down her perfectly contoured cheeks. Her diamond earrings sparkled in the frame.
*“To all my followers… tonight I experienced the most horrifying, violent trauma of my life,”* Blythe wept into the camera, her voice choked with theatrical despair. *“Inside the Ashcroft Grand hotel, an unhinged, violent woman pretending to be the owner physically assaulted me, threw dirty liquid on me, and had her thugs throw me into the street because I refused to stay silent about the hotel’s illegal labor practices and unsafe conditions. The Ashcroft family is corrupt to the bone. Boycott the Ashcroft Grand. Share this video. Don’t let them silence another woman!”*
