Chapter 7 - The Collapse of Nebula Systems
At 11:30 a.m., the second wave of our operation hit Nebula Systems—the failing tech venture owned by Sarah’s husband, Richard.
Richard was sitting in his corner office in a technology park in Norwalk, Connecticut, holding a glass of scotch, waiting for the $1.25 million wire transfer from First Connecticut Private Lending to clear his bank account so he could pay off his aggressive private equity creditors.
Instead of a wire notification, his office doors were pushed open by four federal agents, accompanied by representatives from the Securities and Exchange Commission.
Evelyn, Arthur, and I stood in the glass hallway outside his office as the agents executed a search warrant on his servers.
Richard jumped out of his leather chair, dropping his glass of scotch onto the carpet. “What is the meaning of this?! You can't just barge into my firm!”
The lead SEC investigator stepped forward, holding a folder. “Richard Hayes, we are executing a warrant for corporate financial fraud, operation of an unregistered investment scheme, and receipt of stolen funds from the Clara Sterling Trust.”
Richard’s face went dead white. He looked past the agents and saw me standing in the doorway, my arms folded across my dark suit.
“Clara...?” Richard stammered, his eyes wide with terror. “What... what are you doing with the SEC?”
“I’m performing a risk audit on your company, Richard,” I said smoothly, stepping into his office. “It turns out your balance sheet is entirely fiction. The $480,000 you took from my secondary account over the last two years didn't save Nebula Systems. It just delayed your bankruptcy.”
“Clara, please!” Richard pleaded, stepping around his desk, his hands raised. “Sarah didn't know the full extent! It was Eric! Eric told us you had millions sitting in that secondary account doing nothing! He said you wouldn't even notice if we borrowed it for a few months!”
“Borrowing implies permission, Richard,” I replied coldly. “You stole it. And your wife, Sarah, helped forge the tax exemption certificates.”
At that moment, Richard’s phone rang on his desk. The caller ID displayed Eleanor Sterling.
I walked over, picked up his phone, and put it on speaker.
“Richard!” Eleanor’s shrill, panicked voice shrieked through the speaker. “Where are you?! The police just arrived at my house! They have a search warrant for the estate planning documents! And Eric isn't answering his cell phone!”
I leaned down toward the phone microphone.
“Eric can't answer his phone right now, Eleanor,” I said softly. “He’s currently being processed at the federal holding facility in Bridgeport.”
A horrifying, suffocating silence fell over the phone line.
“Clara...?” Eleanor gasped, her voice suddenly trembling like a dried leaf. “Is... is that you?”
“Yes, Eleanor,” I replied pleasantly. “I hope you enjoyed the champagne in my living room on Friday. It will be the last glass of vintage wine you drink for a very long time.”
“You monster!” Eleanor screamed, her former arrogance shattering into hysterical wails. “You ruined my family! We treated you like a daughter!”
“You treated me like an automated teller machine, Eleanor,” I corrected her. “And the account is now closed.”
May you like
I hung up the phone and looked at the federal agents as they snapped handcuffs onto Richard’s wrists and began boxing up his computer servers.
Arthur tapped my shoulder. “One more stop, Clara. Julian Vance is waiting for us at the consultancy firm.”
