Chapter 3 - The ICU ConfessionsThree days later, the sterile white environment of the hospital intensive care unit felt like sanctuary compared to the gilded cage of the Wycliffe estate.
My burns were treated, my airway had fully recovered, and my system was cleared of the toxins Constance had slipped into the glaze. But I stayed in the bed, using the time to review the massive financial and legal dossier Damon and my former colleagues had assembled.
The arrest of Constance and Graham had sent shockwaves through Manhattan’s elite circles. Headlines blared across every major news network: “Wycliffe Dynasty Collapses: Prominent Socialite and Husband Arrested in Multi-Million Dollar Murder Plot and Insurance Fraud.”
The door to my hospital room clicked open.
Damon walked in, carrying a thick stack of certified bank statements and forensic audit reports. He pulled up a chair beside my bed and placed the papers on the rolling tray.
“How are you holding up, Evelyn?” Damon asked gently, pouring a cup of water and handing it to me.
“Better than the Wycliffes,” I smiled, taking a sip. “Tell me what you found in their corporate accounts.”
Damon grinned, leaning back in his chair. “It’s worse than we thought. Wycliffe Capital was completely bankrupt six months ago. Graham didn't just lose money in bad venture deals; he was running a massive Ponzi scheme, using family trust assets to pay off dangerous private loan sharks. If you hadn't died—or rather, if you hadn't exposed them—they would have been ruined within weeks.”
“And the insurance policy?” I asked.
“Forged by Graham himself, notarized by a corrupt clerk downtown whom we’ve already flipped,” Damon confirmed. “Payout was set for two point five million dollars, routed straight through an offshore shell company controlled by Isabelle Crane.”
Ah, Isabelle.
The beautiful, polished hospitality consultant who thought she was going to inherit a dying man's fortune.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“She’s currently cooperating with the federal prosecutor’s office,” Damon chuckled. “The moment she realized Graham was going away for life-imprisonment without parole, she handed over every text message, email, and financial transfer receipt she had. She didn't want to go down for his conspiracy.”
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I looked out the hospital window at the bright Manhattan skyline. The sun was breaking through the clouds, washing the city in golden light.
“Let them tear each other apart,” I said quietly. “I’m ready to file for divorce and asset seizure.”
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