Chapter 8 - The Corporate Guillotine
With Lacey gone, the focus shifted entirely to the man still trapped behind the cedar bars.
Arthur motioned to the locksmith standing nearby. The locksmith stepped forward with a pair of heavy-duty hydraulic bolt cutters, walked up to the kennel door, positioned the jaws around Arthur’s brass padlock, and gave the handles a sharp squeeze.
Clack.
The padlock fell away into the grass. The locksmith pulled the iron slide-bolt open and swung the cedar door wide.
“Step out, Damon,” Arthur commanded.
Damon stumbled out of the kennel, his legs shaking, his designer suit wrinkled, stained, and smelling faintly of cedar and morning dew. He tried to straighten his shoulders, attempting a pathetic veneer of corporate dignity.
“Look… Arthur, let’s be reasonable,” Damon stammered, holding up his hands defensively. “We can talk about this like professionals. We can go to mediation. Think about the baby—she needs a father—!”
“Oh, she will have a father,” Arthur replied coldly, gesturing to the corporate legal associates behind him. “A father who respects her mother, honors his commitments, and possesses basic human decency. You, however, are about to become intimately acquainted with a different kind of professional environment.”
The two county deputies stepped forward, taking Damon firmly by both arms.
“Damon Sterling, you are being detained under a federal grand jury subpoena and corporate fraud investigation warrant issued by the U.S. District Attorney’s Office,” the lead deputy announced crisply, producing a pair of steel handcuffs. Click. Click.
Damon’s eyes went wide with pure terror as the cold metal locked around his wrists. “Fraud? What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything illegal!”
“Embezzlement of departmental R&D funds, falsification of quarterly corporate compliance reports, and illicit offshore wire transfers totaling over twelve hundred thousand dollars from Sterling Logistics accounts,” the legal associate recited calmly, holding up a thick manila folder filled with financial records. “Our internal audit team discovered the discrepancy late last night. Your office has already been cleared out, your corporate badge deactivated, and your assets frozen pending full forfeiture proceedings.”
Damon’s knees buckled. If not for the deputies holding him up, he would have collapsed onto the stone pavers. The grand, untouchable corporate executive was gone, replaced by a broken man facing the very real prospect of a decade behind federal bars.
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As they marched him down the driveway toward the waiting patrol cruiser, Damon cast one last, desperate glance back toward the patio.
Clara didn’t flinch. She simply looked at him with quiet, absolute indifference—the ultimate executioner of his inflated ego.
