Chapter 5 - The Attorney’s UltimatumBy noon, the polished slate driveway of the Whitmore estate was graced by a sleek black town car.
A tall man in an expensive charcoal suit stepped out, clutching a leather briefcase. Richard Vance was one of the most ruthless divorce and corporate litigation attorneys in the Southeast. He didn't take cases for justice; he took cases for leverage, blood, and massive contingency fees.
Marcus escorted Vance directly into the formal study on the second floor.
Nathan was sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, a cup of black coffee in hand, looking entirely unbothered.
Vance threw his briefcase onto the desk with a sharp thud, pulled out a chair without being invited, and sat down with a shark-like grin.
“Mr. Whitmore,” Vance purred, adjusting his silk tie. “My client, Claire Whitmore, informs me that you’ve subjected her to unlawful detainment, emotional abuse, and baseless accusations of theft in your own home.”
Nathan didn't blink. He took a slow sip of his coffee.
“Your client was caught on home security footage terrorizing my elderly mother, threatening a minor, and attempting to frame an innocent employee for theft,” Nathan replied, his voice level.
Vance waved a dismissive hand, as if brushing away a minor insect.
“Domestic disputes, Mr. Whitmore. Emotions run high in wealthy households. But let’s talk about the real numbers. If this goes to a public trial, the media will have a field day. The stock of Whitmore Development will take a twenty percent hit before the opening bell on Monday. Claire is prepared to settle quietly: fifty million dollars in liquid assets, the Georgia estate, and complete silence regarding your family’s private medical and personal affairs.”
Nathan set his coffee cup down. The ceramic clinked softly against the wood.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, locking his cold gray eyes onto the attorney.
“Fifty million dollars,” Nathan repeated, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone.
“A bargain, considering what’s at stake for your corporate valuation,” Vance smiled, smug and confident.
Nathan pressed the intercom button on his desk.
“Marcus, bring him in.”
The heavy oak door swung open. Marcus didn't enter alone. He was accompanied by two men in dark federal suits bearing FBI insignias, carrying thick Manila folders.
Vance’s smug smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Special Agent Miller stepped forward, flashing a gold shield before slipping it back into his pocket.
“Mr. Vance, I’m Agent Miller with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, White-Collar Crime Division,” the federal agent said smoothly. “We’ve been reviewing interstate wire transfers originating from Whitmore Development accounts to offshore entities in the Cayman Islands totaling 4.2 million dollars—transfers authorized under your client’s digital signature and routed through a shell corporation registered in your law firm’s name.”
Vance’s face lost every trace of color. The shark had just realized he was swimming in a tank full of great whites.
Nathan picked up a single sheet of paper from the desk and slid it across the mahogany toward the attorney.
“That’s an indictment warrant signed by a federal judge an hour ago,” Nathan said softly. “Your client isn't getting fifty million dollars, Mr. Vance. She’s getting a cell next to whatever co-conspirators helped her launder corporate development funds. And if I find out your firm took a cut of those funds, you’ll be sharing a cell with her.”
Vance stared at the paper, his hands trembling slightly as he reached down to close his briefcase.
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“This... this is highly irregular,” Vance stammered, standing up so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
“Welcome to the real world, counselor,” Nathan said without expression. “The door is behind you.”
