Chapter 5 - The Fall of the House of ValeBy Friday afternoon, the business section of the Chicago Tribune had a front-page headline that sent shockwaves through the Midwest corporate world:
VALE EMPIRE COLLAPSES AMID FRAUD PROBE; WIFE ASSUMES SOLE CONTROL.
The fallout was swift and merciless.
Forensic accountants moving through Vale Luxury Hospitality discovered that Dominic had not only been funneling charity funds to support Vanessa Reed’s lavish lifestyle, but he had also been taking illegal kickbacks from municipal contractors. Within seventy-two hours, the state attorney general’s office issued a formal subpoena for Dominic Vale.
Vanessa Reed’s apartment in Lincoln Park was repossessed by the bank on Thursday, and by Friday morning, she had packed her bags and left Chicago for good, having discovered that a penniless Dominic Vale made for a very poor protector.
Meanwhile, at the sleek, glass-walled executive offices of Cross Meridian Holdings downtown, a quiet, monumental transaction was taking place.
Evelyn sat at the head of a mahogany boardroom table. Across from her sat Julian Cross and his team of senior corporate attorneys.
Spread out before them were the final asset transfer agreements for the entire Vale portfolio.
“Every single clause is ironclad,” Julian’s chief legal counsel confirmed, sliding a final folder toward Evelyn. “The shipping docks, the real estate holding company, the restaurant group—all transferred cleanly to the Hart-Vale Trust, free of any encumbrances or corporate debt.”
Evelyn picked up a heavy gold fountain pen—her mother’s pen—and signed her name across the dotted line with clean, decisive strokes.
Evelyn Hart-Vale.
When she finished, she looked up to find Julian watching her with an expression that was half-business, half-captivated.
“It’s done,” Julian said quietly, raising his glass of sparkling water. “To the new CEO of Hart-Vale Enterprises.”
Evelyn tapped her glass against his. “To new architecture.”
“So,” Julian said, leaning back in his leather chair, a slow smile playing on his lips. “Now that you own half of downtown Chicago and every shipping lane on the river... what’s a powerful woman like you going to do for dinner?”
Evelyn laughed—a bright, free sound that she hadn’t heard from herself in years.
“Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Cross?”
May you like
“I’m formally requesting a continuation of our business meeting,” Julian corrected smoothly, though his eyes danced with amusement. “Over prime rib and a very expensive bottle of Barolo.”
“In that case,” Evelyn said, closing her leather portfolio with a satisfying snap, “I accept.”
