Chapter 4 - The High-Roller's Marker
By four o'clock that afternoon, Victoria and I were descending through the desert haze toward Harry Reid International Airport aboard a chartered Gulfstream. Below us, the Las Vegas Strip glittered like a garish neon circuit board in the middle of the barren Mojave.
We hadn't even cleared the private terminal when Victoria’s phone buzzed with an urgent priority tone. She looked at the display, her brows furrowing.
"It's Marcus Hayes," she said, glancing up at me. "The general counsel for the Bellagio Resort and Casino."
"Take it," I instructed.
Victoria engaged the speakerphone. "Marcus. We just touched down. What do you have?"
"Victoria," a deep, gravelly voice echoed through the cabin. "I hear your client, Mrs. Sterling, is in town for the fallout from her idiot husband’s crash."
"We are here for the criminal proceedings, Marcus. What does Bellagio have to do with this?"
"Trevor Sterling didn't just rent an elopement suite at our chapel last night, Victoria," Marcus said, with the tired irritation of a casino executive who had seen every form of human degeneracy under the sun. "Before he picked up his little sister-in-law, he spent four hours in our high-limit salon."
My stomach tightened, but my voice remained razor-steady. "How much did he pull down, Marcus?"
"He presented a forged corporate resolution granting him power of attorney over Vanguard Design Holdings' commercial liquidity line," Marcus replied bluntly. "Our night auditors were understaffed. He took out an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar casino marker. He proceeded to blow five hundred and fifty thousand of it at the baccarat tables in less than three hours, cashed out the remaining two hundred and fifty thousand in high-denomination chips, and stuffed them into his duffel bag."
"Let me guess," I said, leaning toward the speaker. "The two hundred and fifty thousand in chips was in the lockbox that shattered across Interstate 15."
"Every single one of them was recovered by the highway patrol," Marcus confirmed. "Which means the Bellagio is currently holding a five-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar bad debt marker backed by a fraudulent corporate document that your husband signed with your corporate tax ID."
"That corporate resolution was a forgery, Marcus," Victoria said firmly. "Sloane never signed it. We have the corporate secretary's deposition ready to certify that no such resolution was ever passed by the board."
"I know it's a forgery, Victoria," Marcus said with a cold sigh. "Which is why I'm calling you before I hand this file to the Nevada Gaming Control Board's enforcement division. In Nevada, passing an unpaid marker backed by fraud isn't a civil debt dispute. Under NRS 205.130, drawing an unpaid casino marker over twelve hundred dollars without funds or legal authority is treated as a Category D felony grand larceny, carrying up to four years in state prison per count. If the Bellagio files our formal complaint tonight, Trevor Sterling will be facing criminal charges from the Gaming Commission before his broken collarbone even begins to heal."
"File it," I said without missing a single beat.
There was a moment of silence on the other end.
"Mrs. Sterling?" Marcus sounded taken aback. "Most spouses in your tax bracket attempt to negotiate a quiet settlement to avoid the casino’s collection agents dragging the family name through the local papers."
"Trevor dragged my name through the mud the moment he texted me a picture of my sister's hand at your wedding chapel, Marcus," I said, my tone as hard as granite. "He is not my family. He is a predator who attempted to bleed my corporate empire dry. File the criminal complaint. Release the security footage of him signing that forged resolution to the Clark County District Attorney. Do not extend him a single inch of leniency."
"Understood," Marcus replied. "I'll instruct our security team to deliver the high-definition surveillance files to Detective Briggs by five o'clock."
"Thank you, Marcus," Victoria said, and disconnected.
She looked at me, a low, appreciative whistle escaping her lips. "You really aren't leaving him a single bridge to retreat across, are you?"
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"When someone burns your house down, Victoria, you don't offer them a blanket," I said, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored ivory silk blouse. "You make sure they spend the rest of their life sleeping in the ashes."
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