Chapter 4 - THE SOCIAL SUICIDE
Word travels fast in a city made of glass and whispers.
By noon,
every gossip column in New York had a headline about the ‘Million Dollar Rejection.’
Vanessa Cole found herself locked out of her apartment,
which was technically leased by one of Daniel’s shell companies.
She stood on the sidewalk with two suitcases,
screaming into her phone,
but no one was picking up.
The friends who had toasted her ‘victory’ over me were now busy deleting photos of her from their feeds.
She was no longer the glamorous new girl;
she was a cautionary tale.
I watched a video of her on the news,
trying to hide her face from the cameras as she left a cheap motel.
I felt no joy,
but I felt no pity either.
She had known exactly who Daniel was,
and she had tried to build her castle on my ruins.
“She’s asking for a settlement,”
Sarah told me,
dropping a letter on my desk.
“She says Daniel promised her a share of the assets for her ‘consulting’ work.”
I didn't even look at the letter.
“Tell her she can have a share of his legal fees instead.”
“Or she can explain to the DA why she was listed as a co-owner on a bank account in the Cayman Islands.”
The color drained from Sarah’s face as she realized the depth of the fraud.
“She was in on it?”
“She was the beneficiary,”
I said,
walking to the window.
“Daniel was funneling money to her for months before the divorce started.”
“He was buying her silence,
or perhaps her help.”
“Either way,”
“she’s just as guilty as he is.”
Later that day,
I received a call from Daniel’s mother.
She was a woman of old money and even older prejudices,
and she had always treated me like a commoner who had tricked her son.
“Emily,”
she said,
her voice like ice water.
“This is beneath you.”
“Daniel made a mistake,
yes,
but to have him arrested?”
“Think of the family name.”
“The family name is Whitmore,
Margot,”
I said,
using her first name for the first time.
“And it’s currently being dragged through the mud by your son’s own actions.”
“If you want him out of jail,”
“you have the money to pay his bail.”
“But I think you’ll find that the banks aren't very interested in lending to the Whitmores right now.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“You’ve changed,”
she finally whispered.
“No,”
I replied.
“I just stopped pretending to be small so your son could feel big.”
I hung up before she could respond.
The feeling of power was intoxicating,
but I knew I had to be careful.
Power can be just as blinding as love.
I spent the evening in the archives of the company,
tracing the digital ghosts of Daniel’s transactions.
Every click of the mouse was a step closer to the truth.
He hadn't just stolen money;
he had been selling our trade secrets to our competitors.
He was a traitor in every sense of the word.
I realized then that the $998,000 bill at the club was a gift.
It was the clumsy,
arrogant act that allowed us to pull the thread that would unravel his entire life.
If he had just been a little more patient,
a little less greedy,
he might have gotten away with it.
But he couldn't help himself.
He wanted to win,
and in his rush to victory,
he forgot to check his flank.
My father walked in,
looking tired but satisfied.
“We found the hard drive,
Emily.”
“The one he tried to hide in his mother’s basement.”
“It has everything.”
I looked at my father and felt a wave of gratitude.
“Thanks,
Dad.”
“Don't thank me yet,”
he said,
sitting down in the chair across from me.
May you like
“We still have to go to trial.”
“And Daniel is the kind of man who will burn everything down before he admits defeat.”
