Chapter 6 - Ashes of the EliteWithin twenty-four hours, the financial empire of the Voss family dissolved into a public spectacle of epic proportions.
Headlines across every major financial news outlet blared the news: VOSS CAPITAL FROZEN BY SEC; CALLAWAY HOLDINGS CONSOLIDATES ABSOLUTE CONTROL. Below the fold, society gossip columns feasted on the scandal of the century: From Fiancée to Matriarch: How Evelyn Carter Outplayed Wall Street's Golden Boy.
Inside the executive penthouse suite of Callaway Tower, the city lights of Manhattan stretched out below like a sprawling grid of fire.
Grant Callaway sat handcuffed to a metal chair in the private conference room, his designer suit rumpled, his hair unstyled, and his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night in federal custody.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Evelyn walked in. She was wearing a sharp, tailored white pantsuit, her posture immaculate, holding a single document in her hand.
Grant looked up, a pathetic mixture of rage and desperation twisting his features. "Evelyn... please. You know me. We were together for seven years. Drop the charges. Tell your... tell your husband to call off the lawyers."
Evelyn stopped a few feet away from him, looking down at the man who had thought humiliation was a one-way street.
"Seven years, Grant," Evelyn said softly, her voice devoid of anger, which made it infinitely more terrifying. "Seven years of loyalty, late nights, and sacrifices, and you traded me for a status symbol who abandoned you the second federal agents walked through the ballroom doors."
"Claudia's father is going down!" Grant snarled, straining against the handcuffs. "She didn't know anything about the offshore accounts!"
"Claudia has already filed for an annulment," Evelyn replied coolly, flipping open the document. "She instructed her lawyers to scrub any legal association with your name before the morning papers hit the stands. You're completely alone, Grant. Exactly where you deserve to be."
Grant slumped forward, burying his face in his hands as dry, broken sobs wracked his shoulders. "What do you want from me, Evelyn? You won. You have everything."
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"Not everything," Evelyn said, laying the document and a pen on the table in front of him. "Sign over your remaining personal trust fund to the Callaway Foundation, and I might convince Roman to let you serve your sentence in a minimum-security facility instead of a federal penitentiary."
Grant stared at the pen like it was a venomous snake, his fingers trembling violently.
