Chapter 6 - The Freezing of Assets
By four o'clock in the morning, the rain had washed the autumn leaves into the gutters along LaSalle Street, leaving the financial district glistening like black glass under the amber streetlights.
While Daniel sat in a holding cell at the 18th District precinct on Near North—arrested for violating the emergency order of protection and misdemeanor trespassing after refusing to leave our driveway—I was sitting in a high-rise conference room on the thirty-second floor of the Citadel Center.
Across the expansive glass table sat Marcus Vance.
Not Arthur Vance, the corrupt lending officer from First Midwest who had enabled Daniel’s reckless schemes, but his older brother—Marcus Vance, the senior managing partner of Vance, Sterling & Croft, the most ruthless corporate litigation firm in the Midwest.
Marcus had been my father’s union lawyer thirty years ago. He was seventy years old, with sharp, hawkish eyes, silver hair combed straight back, and a mind like an industrial shredder.
On the table between us lay the leather bag: the four hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cashier's checks, the forged conservatorship petition, and three digital flash drives containing twenty years of Harrison Custom Homes accounting records.
Beside my coffee cup, resting on a clean white napkin, lay my mother’s pearls.
"He was sloppy, Sarah," Marcus said, his gravelly voice cutting through the hum of the HVAC system as he reviewed the banking records through his gold-rimmed reading glasses. "Arrogant men always are. Daniel spent eighteen months siphoning corporate liquidity into Vanguard Asset Holdings, believing that because he was the public face of the company, nobody would ever scrutinize the general ledger."
"Can he touch the West Loop development?" I asked, my voice steady despite the bone-deep exhaustion pulling at my limbs.
Marcus let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"The West Loop project belongs to the operating entity, Harrison Custom Homes Inc.," Marcus explained, tapping his fountain pen against a certified copy of our corporate charter. "According to paragraph fourteen, section B, which your father made sure I inserted into your operating agreement when you founded the company in two-thousand-four: in the event that any managing partner commits an act of moral turpitude or unauthorized diversion of corporate funds exceeding fifty thousand dollars, the non-offending partner retains unilateral executive authority to remove them as CEO."
Marcus looked up, his hawkish eyes locking onto mine with fierce, unyielding pride.
"You aren't Daniel’s business partner anymore, Sarah. As of three-thirty this morning, when we filed the emergency corporate declaration with the Illinois Secretary of State, you are the sole Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of the Board of Harrison Custom Homes."
A strange, quiet weight settled over my chest.
For twenty years, I had hidden in the background. I had let Daniel take the podiums, let Daniel smile for the magazine covers, let Daniel accept the crystal trophies while I managed the subcontractors, negotiated the steel prices, and ensured the payroll checks never bounced. I had allowed myself to believe that keeping a man happy meant making myself invisible.
“Never shrink to fit a room that wasn't built for you, Sarah,” my mother’s voice whispered in the back of my mind.
"What about Lauren Mitchell?" I asked.
Marcus smiled, a terrifying, predatory baring of teeth.
"Miss Mitchell made a fatal error," he said, sliding a manila folder across the table. "She registered Vanguard Asset Holdings using her personal Social Security number and her private residential address. That four-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar transfer wasn't classified as a dividend; it was classified as an advance for architectural consulting services."
"Lauren isn't an architect," I pointed out. "She doesn't even have a general contractor's license. She was an administrative assistant earning sixty-five thousand a year."
"Exactly," Marcus nodded grimly. "Which means under federal banking statutes, that transfer constitutes interstate wire fraud and commercial money laundering. The United States Attorney’s office for the Northern District of Illinois has an entire task force dedicated to real estate fraud. I took the liberty of emailing an encrypted copy of this dossier to Assistant U.S. Attorney David Miller twenty minutes ago. David was a close friend of your father’s."
Marcus leaned back in his leather chair, taking off his glasses.
"By nine o'clock this morning, federal freeze orders will hit every personal and corporate account linked to Daniel Harrison and Lauren Mitchell. They won't be able to buy a cup of coffee at Starbucks, let alone hire a defense team to fight you in probate court."
My phone buzzed against the glass table.
It was a text from an unknown number. I swiped the screen.
Sarah, please. Lauren is having a panic attack. Her father has a bad heart. If the feds get involved, it will kill him. I'm at the precinct. They’re letting me out on personal recognizance. Meet me at the Drake for breakfast. Let’s handle this like civilized adults. Think of Ellie.
I stared at the words on the glowing screen.
Think of Ellie.
The man who had stolen his daughter’s dead grandmother’s pearls to impress a thirty-one-year-old mistress was now asking me to think of our daughter.
I didn't reply to the text.
May you like
I picked up my mother’s pearls, wrapped them twice around my wrist like a prayer rope, and looked at Marcus Vance.
"Call the locks company," I said, my voice cold, calm, and absolute. "Change every code on every property we own in Cook County. And tell the security team at the corporate office that if Daniel Harrison steps foot on our job sites, he is to be arrested for criminal trespass."
