Chapter 5 - The Lazarus TrapThe recording in George Stanford’s steady, calculating voice continued to echo against the glass walls of the boardroom.
“Clara, you signed the Lazarus Foundation dissolution papers in Zurich on November 14, 2021,” George’s voice rang out clearly. “My firm purchased your remaining shares of the shell corporation for one pound sterling. Legally, structurally, and financially, that foundation has been a wholly owned subsidiary of Stanford Global Holdings for three years. You aren’t the owner of the estate, my dear. You’re a trespasser holding a canceled ticket.”
Clara’s jaw dropped. She staggered backward, colliding slightly with one of her private security guards.
“That’s... that’s impossible,” Clara stammered, her British composure entirely shattering as she dug frantically into her designer handbag, pulling out a thick manila folder of legal documents. She flipped through the papers with trembling fingers. “I have the original trust registry! The BVI registry didn't process the dissolution! I checked online just last week!”
Mr. Wayne adjusted his glasses, offering a cold, professional smile.
“The British Virgin Islands corporate registry updates its public portal on a quarterly delay, Mrs. Vance,” Mr. Wayne said smoothly, sliding a certified government-stamped transcript across the glass table toward her. “However, our private filings with the international banking clearinghouse were executed and notarized twenty-four hours after your signature was secured in Zurich. You signed away your rights to the foundation three years ago in exchange for a quiet settlement to keep you from exposing Edwin’s prior marriage to the authorities. You sold your own leverage for pocket change.”
Clara stared at the document, her eyes darting across the lines of certified text. The color completely drained from her face, leaving her looking hollow and defeated.
“You... you set a trap,” Clara breathed, looking from Mr. Wayne to Camila. “All of this... the fake marriage, the trust, the estate... it was all planned.”
“My father didn’t just protect me, Clara,” Camila said, stepping closer until she towered over the other woman. “He studied every single parasite that attached itself to our family. Edwin thought he was manipulating a naive girl. You thought you could swoop in at the end and collect the scraps. But you both underestimated a dying man who had nothing left to lose.”
Robert Vance, who had been celebrating just moments earlier, slumped back into his chair, his face turning an alarming shade of grey. If Clara had no legal claim, and Edwin was facing federal indictment, the entire Vance family syndicate was utterly exposed, bankrupt, and legally vulnerable.
“What... what happens to us now?” Robert whispered, staring at Camila as if she were a ghost.
Camila turned her back on Clara, walking slowly back to the head of the table. She sat down, resting her hands neatly on the glass surface.
“What happens now is simple,” Camila announced, her voice echoing through the silent room. “Every asset, every vehicle, every offshore account, and every property acquired by Edwin Vance using stolen corporate funds or fraudulent marriage claims is subject to immediate seizure by Stanford Global Holdings. By the end of business today, the Vance family will be legally, financially, and socially erased from this city.”
Clara let out a sharp, choked gasp of rage. She grabbed her briefcase, spun on her heel, and stormed out of the boardroom, her security guards scrambling to keep up as the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them.
The boardroom was dead silent once more.
“Mr. Wayne,” Camila instructed without missing a beat. “File the emergency asset forfeiture motion with the federal district court immediately. I want every single property—including the Bel Air mansion—cleared of all Vance occupants by midnight.”
“Consider it done, Mrs. Stanford,” Mr. Wayne replied, nodding respectfully.
“And what about Edwin?” Pendelton asked cautiously, leaning forward. “His trial date hasn't been set yet, but his defense attorney is already trying to cut a plea deal for a reduced sentence in exchange for returning a portion of the embezzled funds.”
May you like
Camila looked out the window, watching the distant afternoon traffic crawling along the Los Angeles freeway far below. The rain had finally stopped, and a weak, watery patch of sunlight was breaking through the heavy gray clouds.
“Let him try to cut a deal,” Camila said softly, a cold edge to her voice. “A prison cell is too good for him. I want him to watch everything he stole, everything he cheated for, and everything he thought he controlled get dismantled piece by piece until there is nothing left of the name Edwin Vance.”
