Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
That night, Derek waited outside the iron gates of the Vance Global estate in Greenwich, Connecticut.
He had spent his last four hundred dollars on a rental car and gas, driving nine hours north from Charlotte through a blinding thunderstorm. He was starving, his clothes were soaked, and his mind was consumed by a single, burning obsession: he needed to see Simone. He needed her to look at him.
The iron gates were twenty feet high, flanked by stone pillars topped with security cameras.
Derek stumbled up to the intercom box and smashed his fist against the call button.
"Simone!" he screamed into the grill. "Simone, come out here! Look at what you've done to me!"
The camera above his head turned with a faint mechanical whir, its lens focusing on his wet, disheveled face.
After thirty seconds of silence, a speaker clicked on.
"Mr. Patterson," Julian Thorne’s voice came through crisp and clear. "You are currently trespassing on private property in violation of a temporary restraining order issued by the State of Connecticut."
"I don't care about your restraining order!" Derek yelled, tears mixing with the rain on his face. "Let me talk to my wife!"
"She is not your wife, Derek," Thorne replied. "Your marriage was declared null and void by the Mecklenburg County District Court on Monday, based on your prior fraudulent bigamous union in the Bahamas."
"I want my money!" Derek roared, slamming both hands against the iron gate. "She stole my life! She took my business! She took my home!"
The small pedestrian gate beside the main barrier unlocked with a heavy hydraulic click.
Julian Thorne stepped out, holding a large black umbrella. He was accompanied by two security officers carrying high-powered flashlights.
Thorne walked slowly toward Derek, stopping three feet away behind the iron bars.
"Simone does not wish to see you, Derek," Thorne said, his tone devoid of pity. "She is currently in London attending a board meeting for Vance Logistics Europe."
Derek slumped against the wet bars, his forehead resting against the cold iron. "London..."
"She left you behind two weeks ago, Mr. Patterson," Thorne said gently, as if explaining a simple concept to a child. "You thought she was a helpless suburban housewife who depended on your generosity for her existence. You treated her like an inconvenient footnote in your quest for social status."
"I loved her," Derek wept, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.
"You loved her labor," Thorne corrected sharply. "You loved her free paralegal work, her domestic care, and her silence. But you made a fatal miscalculation."
Thorne pulled a thick document from beneath his coat and slid it through the iron bars.
"What is this?" Derek asked, looking down at the paper.
"That is a formal indictment issued an hour ago by the Federal Grand Jury in Manhattan," Thorne said. "Charges include eleven counts of wire fraud, three counts of tax evasion, and one count of interstate money laundering. Two federal marshals are currently behind you."
Derek whipped his head around.
May you like
A dark sedan had pulled up to the curb behind his rental car. Two agents in tactical vests stepped out into the rain, their badges gleaming under the streetlights.
"Derek Patterson," the lead agent said, pulling out a set of steel handcuffs. "You are under arrest."
