Chapter 7 - The Interrogation and Arrest
The federal arraignment took place on a crisp Monday morning in a packed courtroom on the eighth floor of the Dirksen Federal Building. Flashbulbs popped outside the stone steps as camera crews vied for position, capturing every angle of the disgraced former executive as U.S. marshals escorted him past the media scrum in handcuffs.
I wasn't there.
Instead, I sat in my private office on the thirty-fifth floor of the Sullivan Tower, watching the live news broadcast on a muted wall monitor while reviewing the final quarterly earnings reports for our green energy portfolio.
Evelyn Price walked into the office, placing a steaming cup of artisan coffee on my desk alongside a tablet displaying the morning's market updates.
“The arraignment just concluded,” Evelyn said, her tone professional and calm. “The judge denied bail given the severe flight risk and the international ties linked to the offshore shell accounts. Jason has been remanded back to the federal detention center pending trial.”
I took a slow sip of the coffee, my gaze lingering on the live footage of Jason being led into a van, his head bowed, his face partially obscured by his handcuffed wrists.
“And Madison Reed?” I asked.
“Cooperating fully with federal prosecutors in exchange for a reduced accessory charge,” Evelyn replied, shaking her head slightly. “She’s trying to distance herself from the entire operation, claiming Jason coerced her under threat of firing her. Given her pregnancy and her low-level administrative status, the D.A. will likely offer her probation and community service, provided she testifies against him if the case goes to trial.”
“Figures,” I murmured, feeling neither anger nor pity. “Self-preservation is the only instinct she ever truly mastered.”
Evelyn checked her tablet. “Arthur Sterling is downstairs. He wanted me to inform you that the final divorce decree has been officially signed and sealed by the family court judge. All marital assets held jointly have been frozen or dissolved in accordance with the pre-filing stipulations. You retain sole ownership of your pre-marital trusts, investments, and independent holdings, unencumbered by any claims from Mr. Caldwell.”
I closed the financial report I was reading and looked out the massive glass window toward the glittering expanse of Lake Michigan. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, the autumn sunlight casting a warm, golden glow across the water.
Eleven years of my life had been tied to a man who ultimately proved to be nothing more than a hollow reflection of my own support. But looking back at the wreckage now, I felt no grief. Only a profound, liberating sense of rebirth.
“Good,” I said softly. “Let’s close that file, Evelyn.”
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“Done, Ms. Sullivan,” Evelyn smiled, a rare, genuine expression of warmth touching her features. “What’s next on the agenda? The board meeting for the European renewable energy acquisition is scheduled for two o’clock.”
“Let’s move it up by thirty minutes,” I said, standing up and smoothing the lapel of my tailored charcoal blazer. “I have an empire to run.”
