Chapter 3 - The Anatomy of a ParasiteThe silence in the penthouse was so thick you could slice it with a razor blade. Celeste stared at the towering stack of documents, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Adrian," she whispered, her voice cracking. "What is he talking about? Who is this old man?"
Adrian didn't answer. He couldn't. His eyes were glued to the top document of the file my father’s lawyer had thrown down. Emblazoned across the header in bold gold lettering was the corporate logo of Sterling Global Enterprises—the multinational venture capital conglomerate that secretly financed, backed, and underwrote over seventy percent of the tech startups and real estate developments in the tri-state area, including the very firm Adrian proudly claimed to own.
"You... you're..." Adrian stammered, pointing a trembling finger at my father. "Sterling Capital is a phantom firm. They operate out of Zurich and Singapore. They don't... they don't buy local residential firms like mine..."
"We don't buy them," my father corrected softly, leaning forward, his piercing gray eyes locking onto Adrian’s soul. "We allow ambitious little insects to crawl around on the surface of our investments so we can watch them squirm. For five years, Evelyn begged me to let you build your little empire. She wanted you to feel like a man. She asked us to stay in the shadows so you could develop your self-worth."
My father stood up, walking slowly toward Adrian until he was standing just inches away. Adrian, despite being over six feet tall, suddenly looked small, cowering under the sheer aura of absolute power.
"And how did you repay her?" my father whispered. "You cheated on her while she carried your children. You humiliated her in a hospital room thirty-six hours after major surgery. You forged a property deed and threw her clothes on the curb."
"I—I didn't know!" Adrian choked out, sweat beading on his forehead. "She never told me! She dressed like—she drove an ordinary car—she lived like an ordinary woman!"
"That's because my daughter has class, you pathetic fraud," my father spat. "Unlike the cheap plastic toy you brought into my grandson's lives."
Celeste stepped forward, trying to salvage her crumbling dignity, her voice shrill. "You can't do this! We have rights! We have high-powered lawyers! You're breaking the law!"
One of the corporate attorneys opened a sleek leather folio and pulled out a single sheet of paper, reading aloud with clinical detachment: "Miss Celeste Monroe. Former receptionist at Vance Associates. Terminated from three previous positions for corporate espionage and financial fraud. Current beneficiary of corporate embezzlements funneled through shell accounts managed by Adrian Vance."
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The attorney looked up, smiling coldly. "That black Birkin bag you're holding? Purchased with corporate funds diverted from a restricted research and development account on October 14th. That's wire fraud, Miss Monroe. Federal offense. Minimum sentence: five to ten years."
Celeste dropped the Birkin bag as if it had turned into a live scorpion. It hit the marble floor with a dull, heavy thud.
