Chapter 2 - The Dishwasher’s Tab
I didn't look back as I handed my ticket to the valet. The cool night air felt like a baptism. For years, I had made excuses for my children’s entitlement, blaming my long hours at the courthouse, convincing myself it was just a phase. Tonight, the illusion shattered.
From the safety of my sedan, I watched the entrance of Le Petit Château. Ten minutes later, the scene unfolded exactly as I had anticipated.
Marcus burst through the brass doors, his face purple with rage, arguing vehemently with the restaurant manager. Elena was right behind him, her hands flying wildly as she yelled. Mr. Sterling, the wealthy investor they were trying to impress, walked out calmly, buttoning his coat. He didn't say a word to Marcus; he simply shook his head, stepped into his waiting town car, and drove away.
Marcus had wanted to look like a titan of industry. Instead, he looked like a panicked boy whose mother had just taken away his allowance.
My phone began to vibrate. Marcus Calling. I let it ring. Then Elena Calling. I turned the phone on silent and drove home.
The next morning, I woke up early, brewed a pot of strong black coffee, and booted up my home office computer. If Marcus was desperate enough to try and trick a federal magistrate into signing away her pension over a dinner table, he wasn't just expanding his business. He was drowning.
I made a phone call to Arthur Vance. Arthur had been my lead law clerk fifteen years ago and was now a senior partner at one of the most ruthless financial litigation firms in the city.
“Judge,” Arthur answered, the deep respect evident in his voice. He was one of the few who still called me by my title. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need a favor, Arthur. Off the books,” I said, staring out at my rose garden. “I need a quiet dive into a company called NovaTech Solutions. CEO is Marcus Vance. And look into the personal finances of Elena and David Cole.”
“Your children?” Arthur asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
May you like
“Yes,” I said coldly. “I suspect they are operating a fraudulent enterprise, and they attempted to use my assets as collateral last night. I want to know exactly how deep the rot goes.”
“Give me forty-eight hours, Judge,” Arthur promised. “I’ll tear their books apart.”
