Chapter 14 - The Maple Street Summit
The summons arrived on a crisp Tuesday morning, delivered not by mail, but via a secure government courier who handed a thick manila envelope directly to Evelyn at the front counter. *Official Correspondence: United States District Court / Internal Revenue Service Criminal Investigation Division.*
I sat at the wooden table in the back office, the heavy paper crackling as I unsealed it. Inside was a formal request for my testimony as a primary witness and forensic archivist regarding the corporate accounts of *Oakridge Holdings LLC*—my father’s private investment firm, which had apparently been operating as a shell corporation to funnel personal expenses through tax-exempt loopholes.
Before I could fully process the legal weight of the document, the front bell chimed. I looked up, expecting Evelyn, but instead, a tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal wool overcoat stepped into the bookstore. He had silver-streaked hair, sharp, observant gray eyes, and an air of absolute authority that commanded the room without a single word.
He walked straight toward the back office, pausing at the threshold.
“Maya Vance?” he asked, his voice deep and measured.
I stood up slowly, clutching the manila envelope against my chest. “Yes. Who are you?”
“Special Agent Thomas Vance,” he said, flashing a dark leather badge case. No relation, I assumed, though the shared surname felt like a cosmic joke. “I’m heading the federal investigation into your father’s financial portfolio.”
My heart did a sharp, erratic stutter. “You’re here early. The deposition isn’t scheduled until next week.”
“Plans changed,” Agent Vance said, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind him. He looked around the cozy, book-lined office, taking in the overflowing shelves, the steaming mug of coffee, and the blue suitcase still tucked beneath the desk. Then, his eyes returned to me, carrying an expression that was surprisingly gentle for a federal investigator. “Your father’s legal counsel attempted to initiate an emergency asset freeze this morning, claiming that the digital documents in our possession were illegally obtained by a disgruntled minor.”
A spike of hot adrenaline shot through my veins. “I was legally emancipated the moment I turned eighteen, and those records were accessible via administrative credentials assigned to me as part of my duties. Nothing was stolen.”
“Relax, Ms. Vance,” Agent Vance said, holding up a hand in a calming gesture. “Our legal team has already verified your status and the provenance of the files. The data is clean, legally admissible, and devastatingly thorough. In fact, your filing system is cleaner than anything our forensic accountants have seen in a decade.”
I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. “Marcus always demanded precision.”
“Well, his precision is about to become his undoing,” Agent Vance said, pulling a sleek tablet from his coat pocket and tapping the screen. “Which brings me to why I’m here personally. Your father’s legal team has requested a formal, closed-door settlement meeting tomorrow afternoon at their corporate offices downtown. They want you there.”
I stared at him, incredulous. “They want *me* there? After everything?”
“They’re terrified,” Agent Vance said bluntly. “They realize that if this goes to trial, Marcus isn't just looking at massive fines; he’s looking at federal indictments for wire fraud and tax evasion. They think that if they put you in a room with their high-priced attorneys, they can intimidate you into signing a nondisclosure agreement and retracting your testimony.”
“And what do you think I should do?” I asked, testing him.
Agent Vance smiled—a brief, genuine expression that transformed his severe features. “I think you should go. But not alone. And not as their subordinate.”
May you like
Evelyn appeared in the doorway, holding a fresh pot of coffee, her eyes flashing with battle-ready excitement. “Did somebody mention a downtown meeting with corporate white-collar criminals? Because I happen to have a very sharp vintage fountain pen and an absolute intolerance for bullies.”
***
