Chapter 2 - The Audit of the Ashfords
The executive suite on the fiftieth floor of the Mercer Tower smelled of polished walnut, old leather, and the impending ruin of the Ashford family.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a cold Chicago rain lashed against the glass, blurring the skyline of the city into gray, smeary brushstrokes. Inside, the room was as still as a tomb.
Colton Mercer sat behind his massive obsidian desk, not touching a single piece of the paperwork piled before him. Instead, he watched the digital monitors mounted on the wall. The screens displayed live feeds from five different federal and private forensic accounting firms, all working simultaneously to tear the Ashford shipping and real estate empire apart down to the last drywall nail.
The door clicked open, and Cain stepped inside, carrying a thick, red-banded file folder and a steaming cup of black coffee, which he placed gently at Colton’s elbow.
“The federal prosecutor’s office just took our encrypted package,” Cain reported, his voice devoid of emotion. “They’ve already issued a no-bail warrant for Preston Ashford on charges of customs evasion, environmental dumping in Lake Michigan, and wire fraud. As for Veronica… she’s currently cooling her heels in a holding cell at District Four. Her defense attorney tried to file for a psychiatric evaluation, but the judge took one look at our video footage from Obsidian and threw the motion out the window.”
Colton didn't blink. “And Preston?”
“Attempted to board a private Gulfstream to Zurich an hour ago,” Cain said with a faint, grim smile. “Our people intercepted him on the tarmac at Midway. He’s currently downstairs in the sub-level holding facility, waiting for you to decide whether you want to talk to him before the feds pick him up.”
“Bring him up,” Colton commanded.
Five minutes later, Preston Ashford was pushed through the double doors by two security guards. The aging patriarch of Chicago’s high society looked fifty years older than he had at the gala. His bespoke suit was rumpled, his silver hair disheveled, and the arrogant, untouchable smirk that had defined his public persona for decades was entirely gone, replaced by a gray, sickly pallor.
He stumbled forward, catching himself against the edge of the mahogany desk, glaring at Colton with venomous hatred.
“You arrogant bastard, Colton,” Preston hissed, spittle flecking his lips. “You’re tearing down a dynasty over a brat? Over a diabetic kid who wouldn't even inherit half of what our families control combined?”
Colton stood up slowly. He didn't yell. He didn't rush across the room. He simply walked around the desk until he was standing directly across from Preston, looking down at the older man with absolute, chilling contempt.
“Wyatt is my blood,” Colton said softly. “You and your daughter decided to murder a six-year-old child because you thought marrying into my empire gave you the right to bypass my security. You thought you could eliminate the heir, inherit the controlling shares through a manufactured tragedy, and take over the shipping lanes.”
Preston tried to puff out his chest, though his hands shook uncontrollably. “We’re family, Colton! We could have ruled the entire Midwest together! You’re destroying millions of dollars in mutual assets over a domestic dispute!”
“It’s not a domestic dispute, Preston,” Colton said, snapping his fingers.
Cain opened the red-banded folder and tossed a single sheet of paper onto the desk in front of Preston. It was a medical lab report, dated three weeks prior.
Preston’s eyes scanned the page, and the last remnants of color drained from his face.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” Preston whispered.
“Veronica didn't just try to poison Wyatt at the gala,” Colton continued, his voice dropping into a register that made Cain instinctively step back. “Our internal toxicology reports on Wyatt’s hospital stay last month show traces of the exact same synthetic insulin blocker. Your daughter tried to kill him twice. And you knew about it. You helped her orchestrate the timeline so her shares in the joint venture would vest before the merger announcement.”
Preston collapsed into a leather armchair, burying his face in his trembling hands. “She… she was ambitious. She wanted total control. I tried to talk her out of it—!”
“Save it for the federal judge,” Colton interrupted, turning his back on him. “Cain, take him down. Make sure he spends the rest of his natural life in a cell where he can watch his fortune auctioned off piece by piece to pay for public parks.”
As the guards hauled Preston screaming and weeping from the office, Colton walked back to the window, watching the rain beat against the glass. His mind, however, wasn't on the fallen empire behind him. It drifted back to the obsidian floor of Obsidian restaurant, and the young woman with dark hair and oversized apron who had looked a dangerous billionaire straight in the eye without blinking.
“Cain,” Colton said without turning around.
May you like
“Boss?”
“Find out everything about Savannah Cole. Where she lives, what she owes, and why a girl with a degree in biomedical chemistry from Northwestern is scrubbing plates at a high-end restaurant on minimum wage.”
