Chapter 3 - THE RAT RACE BEGINSBy 2:00 p.m. that afternoon, the news of Ryan Vance’s public humiliation had swept through the city’s high-society circles like wildfire.
A video recorded by our next-door neighbor—showing Madison in her underwear on the sidewalk, Patricia screaming at sheriffs, and Ryan’s Porsche being towed—went viral on social media under the hashtag #TheRobeRevenge.
I watched the view count tick past two million from the comfort of the presidential suite at the St. Regis Hotel.
My phone rang. It was Marcus, my private investigator.
“Claire,” Marcus’s deep voice came through the receiver. “Ryan and his parents just checked into a two-star motel near the highway. Madison packed her bags and left him an hour ago after discovering his credit cards were all declined.”
I took a slow sip of champagne. “Did he try to access the reserve emergency fund?”
“He did,” Marcus chuckled. “He went straight to First National Bank trying to withdraw $50,000 from the offshore account he hid from you during your marriage. Imagine his surprise when the branch manager told him the account was frozen by federal court order for tax evasion under the FinCEN mandate you flagged last night.”
“Good,” I said coldly. “What about his parents?”
“Patricia tried to pawn the diamond necklace you bought her for her 60th birthday,” Marcus added. “The pawnbroker informed her the diamonds had been replaced with cubic zirconia three months ago. It seems Ryan had already quietly swapped her real jewelry to pay off his gambling debts in Macau.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Ryan stole from his own mother?”
“He’s deeper in the hole than you even realized, Claire,” Marcus said. “The $150,000 commercial debt you bought was just the tip of the iceberg. Ryan owes close to $3 million to a private syndicate in Chicago. And now that they know Apex Holdings has foreclosed on all his secured assets, those syndicate guys are getting very nervous.”
A knock sounded at my suite door.
I opened it to find my legal team, led by Victor Sterling, along with two forensic accountants carrying heavy leather briefcases.
“Claire,” Victor said, stepping inside. “We’ve analyzed the corporate server data we seized from Vance Media this morning. You’re going to want to see this.”
One of the accountants unfolded a large chart on the suite’s marble table.
“Ryan wasn’t just running a failing art design firm,” the accountant explained, pointing to a series of shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands. “He was actively embezzling funds from your late father’s charitable foundation. Over the past three years, he funneled over $2.4 million out of the trust to fund Madison’s luxury lifestyle, purchase offshore crypto assets, and pay off high-stakes offshore bookies.”
My fists clenched tightly. I could stomach him cheating on me. I could stomach him trying to steal my house. But stealing from my deceased father’s charity—a foundation that provided pediatric cancer care—was a line that meant absolute war.
“Can we tie him directly to the wire transfers?” I asked, my voice deadly calm.
“100%,” Victor confirmed. “The paper trail is airtight. Ryan signed every single transfer order himself, using a forged signature of your father’s estate executor.”
“Then don’t file for simple divorce financial settlement,” I instructed Victor. “File criminal charges for grand larceny, wire fraud, and falsification of corporate records. I don’t just want Ryan bankrupt, Victor. I want him in a federal prison cell.”
Victor smiled grimly. “Consider it done. But there’s one small complication.”
“What complication?”
“Ryan just called an emergency press conference for 6:00 p.m. at the Grand Hyatt,” Victor said, pulling up an alert on his iPad. “He’s claiming to be the victim of domestic financial abuse. He’s telling reporters that you manipulated him, stole his company, and pushed him into poverty using illegal shell company tactics. He’s trying to play the public sympathy card to force a settlement.”
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I looked out the window at the city skyline, a slow smile spreading across my lips.
“A press conference?” I murmured. “Perfect. Let’s make sure he has an audience he’ll never forget.”
