Chapter 11 - The Walk of Glass
Chloe stepped through the double doors of my office, and for a split second, the haughty, condescending sneer froze on her face. Her eyes darted from the expansive city view behind my desk to the rows of gleaming commendation plaques on the wall, and finally, to the gold-embossed seal of the Department of Justice resting right beneath my nameplate.
She looked smaller today. The designer sunglasses were missing, her hair was pulled back into a hurried, frayed ponytail, and the expensive linen blazer she wore was wrinkled, as if she had slept in it inside the back of a cheap sedan.
"Mara," she choked out, her voice lacking its usual venom, replaced by a frantic, nervous tremor. "What... what is this? Security wouldn't let me past the gate until I gave my social security number, and then some guy in a tactical vest escorted me all the way up here like I was a criminal."
I didn’t stand up. I didn’t offer her a seat. I simply watched her, letting the silence stretch between us until her breathing hitched.
"You're not a criminal, Chloe," I said smoothly, my tone completely devoid of emotion. "You're a visitor. Which is more than you ever allowed me to be in your home."
"Don't do that," she snapped, her old defensive reflex flaring up as she gripped the back of an empty chair. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your subordinates. Trent is gone. The house is gone. The bank accounts are completely frozen, and the judge said every single asset is tied up in federal restitution because of some massive financial fraud investigation. And the weird thing is... the lead investigator on the paperwork has your signature on it."
"My signature?" I raised an eyebrow, picking up a silver pen and twirling it between my fingers. "How strange. It’s almost as if financial crimes investigators actually do work for a living, instead of just cleaning federal offices."
Chloe’s face drained of color. "You... you weren't a janitor."
"I never said I was," I replied softly. "You assumed. My mother assumed. Trent assumed because it made you feel better about yourselves to look down on someone. But while you were spending stolen money on luxury SUVs and country club dues, I was tracing the paper trail straight to your husband's front door."
"You ruined us!" she shrieked, slamming her hands down on the desk. "You had the power to stop this all along, and you sat there taking our insults! You watched us mock you! You cooked our holiday dinners while you were gathering evidence against my husband!"
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"Every single word of it," I said, standing up slowly. The height difference wasn't much, but the absolute authority in my posture made her step back. "And if you ever step foot near my daughter or my mother again with your toxic entitlement, I won't just freeze your assets—I'll make sure you share a cell block with Trent."
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