Chapter 5 - The Park Avenue Eviction
At four o'clock in the morning, the heavy rain had eased into a cold, persistent drizzle over the Upper East Side.
Inside the sprawling, seven-thousand-square-foot duplex penthouse on Park Avenue that Richard had secretly leased six months ago using forged corporate guarantees, the atmosphere was chaotic, panicked, and suffocating.
Richard Vance was frantically throwing silk shirts, platinum watches, and Italian leather shoes into three large Louis Vuitton suitcases spread across the master bedroom’s king-sized bed. His hair was disheveled, his tuxedo shirt was unbuttoned to his waist, and sweat was dripping profusely from his chin onto his hardwood floor.
Standing near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, clutching a mink coat around her shoulders, was Bianca Astervon. Her face was swollen from crying, her platinum hair hanging in messy strands around her neck.
"Where are we going, Richard?!" Bianca screamed, her voice cracking with hysterical terror. "My father just revoked my trust fund! He told me if I ever speak to you again, he will have me removed from his will! The press is standing outside my apartment complex!"
"Shut up, Bianca!" Richard roared, violently jamming a ten-thousand-dollar Rolex into his bag. "Just shut your mouth and help me pack! I have sixty thousand dollars in cash in the safe! We're driving to Newark airport and taking the first flight to Dubai!"
"Dubai?!" Bianca shrieked. "I’m an Astervon! I don't run away to Dubai like a common fugitive!"
"YOU ARE A FUGITIVE!" Richard yelled, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her violently. "Your father’s company is going bankrupt, my company fired me, and Victoria’s brothers are wiping us off the face of the earth! If we don't leave in twenty minutes, we are going to prison!"
Before Bianca could answer, the heavy, reinforced oak front door of the penthouse was shattered inward with an explosive CRASH.
Four uniformed officers from the United States Marshals Service, accompanied by six agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation wearing dark blue windbreakers, poured into the foyer, their weapons drawn and tactical flashlights sweeping the high-ceilinged room.
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DON'T MOVE!" a senior officer bellowed, his voice echoing off the plaster walls.
Bianca screamed, dropping her mink coat onto the floor and throwing her hands into the air, collapsing against the sofa in terror.
Richard dropped his suitcase, his face going completely gray, his hands shaking as he raised them slowly above his head.
"Wait... wait!" Richard stammered, his voice quivering with pathetic terror. "There’s been a mistake! I’m Richard Vance! I’m the Executive Vice President of Horizon Prime—"
"You were the Executive Vice President, Mr. Vance," a cold, sharp voice interrupted from the doorway.
Stepping through the shattered entrance of the penthouse was Samuel Reynolds, accompanied by two armed private enforcement officers from Sullivan Capital and a court-appointed federal receiver carrying a thick stack of legal execution papers.
Reynolds walked calmly across the plush white carpet, stopping three feet from Richard.
"Richard Vance," Reynolds announced, pulling a gold-rimmed document from his coat. "Pursuant to an emergency asset seizure order issued two hours ago by the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York, this real estate asset, along with all personal property, vehicles, bank accounts, and luxury goods contained within, has been seized by Sullivan Capital as satisfaction for outstanding corporate fraud judgments."
Richard stared at Reynolds, his eyes wide with wild, unreasoning panic. "You... you can't seize my personal belongings! This is my home! These suits are mine! These watches are mine!"
"Nothing in this room is yours, Mr. Vance," Reynolds corrected him smoothly. "Every single item in this apartment was purchased using funneled corporate credit lines guaranteed by Sullivan Capital. You own nothing. You are currently trespassing on Sullivan property."
The lead FBI agent stepped forward, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt.
"Richard Vance, you are under arrest for federal wire fraud, bank fraud, grand larceny, and illegal flight to avoid prosecution," the agent declared, grabbing Richard’s wrist and spinning him around violently.
CLICK-CLACK.
The steel handcuffs locked tightly around Richard’s wrists, pinching his skin.
"No! No! Please!" Richard screamed, thrashing against the agent's grip as he was forced down onto his knees on his own bedroom carpet. "Call Victoria! Let me speak to my wife! Victoria will stop this! She loves me! Tell her I’m sorry about the necklace! I’ll draw her a new one! Please, call Victoria!"
Reynolds looked down at Richard with absolute, unadulterated coldness.
"Miss Victoria is currently at home sleeping peacefully beside her daughter, Mr. Vance," Reynolds said quietly. "She gave me a message to deliver to you before you were transported to the Metropolitan Correctional Center."
Richard looked up from the floor, tears and sweat pouring down his face, his body shaking with pathetic desperate hope. "What... what did she say? What’s her message?!"
Reynolds leaned down, his voice dropping into a razor-thin whisper.
"She said... you are simple."
Richard’s mouth opened in a silent, horrified gasp.
The FBI agents yanked Richard up from the floor by his arms, dragging him out through his master bedroom, past the crying Bianca Astervon, past his luxury watches lying scattered on the carpet, and down the long hallway toward the private elevator.
As he was dragged into the elevator, Richard looked out through the glass doors at the glittering lights of the Manhattan skyline he had once believed he was destined to rule.
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The skyline was still there—bright, vast, and completely indifferent to his existence.
And sitting atop that skyline, commanding every tower, every street, and every dollar, was the family of the woman he had called a nobody.
