Chapter 8 - The Golden Boy’s Gamble
Agent Hayes took two measured steps into the room, two uniformed officers flanking her with hands resting deliberately near their holsters. The smell of roasted fowl, spilled wine, and fear hung heavily in the air.
Julian, sensing the tide shifting entirely toward his mother, adjusted his tie with trembling hands and cleared his throat. “Agent Hayes. Thank God you’re here. My mother... as you can see, she has been severely assaulted by my wife. Clara snapped, attacked her with hot soup, and tried to destroy family property. I was just about to call the local authorities myself.”
Clara didn't even turn her head. She knew Julian’s survival instincts intimately; he would throw his own mother beneath a moving train if it gave him ten seconds to run.
Agent Hayes looked at Eleanor, whose hair was stiffening with cooled poultry fat, then turned her gaze to Julian. “Mr. Julian Vance?”
“Yes, I am Julian Vance, Chief Executive Officer of Vance Enterprises,” he said, adopting the smooth, practiced boardroom tone that had deceived investors for a decade. “I can assure you that whatever paperwork you have regarding the historic pension allocations, it was managed exclusively by my mother’s private office. I have been attempting to audit these discrepancies myself. I’m more than willing to cooperate fully with the State.”
Marcus let out a short, bitter bark of laughter. “You coward. You spineless coward.”
“Shut up, Marcus!” Julian hissed under his breath, keeping his eyes glued to Hayes. “Agent Hayes, I will hand over all relevant servers voluntarily. My car is outside. If we can step into my study—”
“Mr. Vance, save your breath,” Agent Hayes said, reaching inside her coat pocket. She produced a second, thicker set of documents bound with a blue legal ribbon. “The grand jury returned a sealed indictment at four o'clock this afternoon. It names Eleanor Vance as a co-conspirator. But the primary defendant on all twenty-two counts of federal bank fraud and tax evasion is you.”
Julian’s face went slack. “What? That’s impossible. I have immunity provisions under the restructured corporate filing—”
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“Not when the whistleblower provides an unredacted audio recording of you explaining how to falsify the foreign tax credits,” Hayes said plainly.
Julian’s head jerked toward Clara.
