Chapter 8 - The Nuclear Strike in MiamiWith Eleanor completely neutralized and rotting in solitary confinement, my focus turned to the puppet master: Ethan Vance.
Ethan had been hiding behind a web of seventeen dummy corporations registered in Delaware and Panama, operating as the majority shareholder of Apex Holdings, a real estate development firm in Miami worth forty million dollars. Every cent of Apex Holdings had been seeded using my biological parents' stolen trust money.
I flew to Miami on a private jet, accompanied by a team of forensic accountants, federal marshals, and my lead corporate attorney, Marcus Sterling.
At 10:00 a.m. on a sunny Tuesday morning, Ethan Vance was host-serving an emergency board meeting on the top floor of the Brickell Avenue skyscraper, trying to secure a twenty-million-dollar bank loan to liquidate his assets and flee to a non-extradition country in South America.
The glass double doors of the boardroom burst open.
Ethan, a silver-haired man in an Italian suit who looked sickeningly like my late father, stood up from the head of the mahogany conference table.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Ethan demanded, glaring at the security guards who were backing away. “Who let you in here?!”
I walked into the boardroom, throwing a heavy leather briefcase onto the center of the table.
“Hello, Uncle Ethan,” I said quietly.
Ethan’s face went corpse-pale. His hands began to shake as he recognized my face—the face of his dead brother Arthur, standing right in front of him.
“D-David...” Ethan stammered, stepping back toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Miami beach. “David... my boy... you shouldn't be here... this is a private corporate meeting...”
“Not anymore,” Marcus Sterling, my attorney, announced, opening the briefcase and handing legal notices to every member of the board of directors. “As of eight o'clock this morning, the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York issued an emergency freeze and asset forfeiture order against all capital, properties, and shares held by Ethan Vance and Apex Holdings.”
The board members gasped, frantically reading the court order.
“Furthermore,” Sterling continued, “Mr. David Vance has officially exercised his absolute right as sole legal heir of the Julianna Rose Trust. We have seized controlling ownership—eighty-two percent—of Apex Holdings. Ethan Vance, you are hereby terminated as CEO, stripped of all voting rights, and evicted from this property immediately.”
“You can’t do this!” Ethan screamed, his face twisting into an ugly mask of rage. “I spent thirty years building this empire! You’re just a weak, pathetic kid who let his mother trick him!”
“She wasn't my mother,” I said, stepping right up to him, looking deep into his terrified eyes. “And you aren't an empire builder. You’re a thief who lived off the blood of my dead parents.”
I signaled toward the door.
Four FBI agents stepped into the boardroom, badges gleaming.
“Ethan Vance,” FBI Special Agent Torres declared. “You are under arrest for federal bank fraud, wire fraud, conspiracy to commit murder, and interstate money laundering. You have the right to remain silent.”
As the federal agents slammed Ethan face-down onto the mahogany table and cuffed his hands behind his back, he looked up at me, begging.
May you like
“David! Please! I’m your family! I’m your father’s brother! Don’t do this to me!”
“My family is waiting for me in Brooklyn,” I said softly. “You’re just a ghost from a nightmare.”
