Chapter 8 - The Storm Before the Dawn
By Friday morning, the digital shockwaves had already begun to ripple through the financial district, though the mainstream media hadn't caught wind of it just yet. Federal investigators work fast when presented with clean, unassailable proof of multi-million-dollar corporate fraud.
I sat at my kitchen island drinking black coffee while Tyler and Megan ate their cereal. Tyler was bruised along his left ribcage, a dark purplish mark blooming beneath his navy sweater, but the pediatrician had assured me there were no internal fractures. Still, the sight of it made my stomach churn with a cold, blinding fury.
My phone buzzed violently against the granite countertop.
It was an unknown number with a Washington, D.C. area code.
I swiped to answer, motioning for the kids to keep eating. "Hello?"
"Is this Rebecca Vance?" a crisp, authoritative male voice asked.
"Yes, this is she."
"Ms. Vance, this is Special Agent Marcus Vance—no relation—with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, White Collar Crime Division. We received your digital submission regarding Allied Manufacturing late last night."
I took a slow, steady breath. "And?"
"And, Ms. Vance, I have to commend you. This is one of the most comprehensive, airtight whistleblower packages our division has reviewed in years. We've already cross-referenced the wire transfers. Your father, Richard Vance, has been systematically draining corporate accounts for over seven years to fund personal luxury assets."
A cold smile touched the corners of my lips. "I'm glad my professional expertise could be of service to the federal government."
"We are moving quickly," Agent Vance continued, his tone dropping into something more serious. "A federal magistrate just signed off on emergency asset freezes and a warrant for search and seizure. Federal marshals are executing simultaneous raids on Allied Manufacturing corporate headquarters and your parents' suburban residence as we speak."
"What about my mother and sister?" I asked.
"Subpoenas have already been issued. Your sister, Natalie Vance, is currently listed as a primary beneficiary of the embezzled funds, having received upwards of six hundred thousand dollars in direct corporate payouts disguised as 'consulting fees'—fees for work she never performed. She will be facing federal conspiracy charges right alongside your father."
"Thank you, Agent Vance," I said softly.
"No, thank you, Ms. Vance. You've just saved hundreds of employees from losing their retirement funds. We'll be in touch if we need you to formally testify as an expert witness."
The call disconnected with a sharp beep.
I set the phone down just as my television, left on a morning news station in the background, flashed with a breaking news banner: **FEDERAL AGENTS RAID ALLIED MANUFACTURING HEADQUARTERS; ASSETS FROZEN AMID FRAUD INVESTIGATION.**
On the screen, live helicopter footage showed federal agents in navy windbreakers carrying heavy cardboard boxes out of the gleaming glass skyscraper downtown where my father had ruled as CEO for twenty years. Down in the corner of the screen, a secondary photo flashed—a mugshot of my father, Richard Vance, looking utterly stunned, disheveled, and stripped of all his manufactured glory, freshly booked into a federal holding facility.
Megan stopped eating her cereal, her spoon hovering halfway to her mouth as she stared up at the television screen.
"Mom..." she whispered, her eyes wide. "Is that... is that Grandpa?"
I walked over, kneeling beside her chair and gently taking her hand. "Yes, sweetie. Grandpa made some very bad, illegal choices at his company. The police and the government are taking care of it."
Tyler looked up from his bowl, his little forehead wrinkling in deep thought. "Does that mean... does he have to go to timeout forever?"
May you like
I chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, careful to avoid his bruised ribs. "Something like that, buddy. Something very much like that."
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