Chapter 6 - The Trap is Set
Over the next seventy-two hours, the office operated like a well-oiled machine. While David handled the household and kept Noah blissfully unaware of the corporate storm brewing around us, my legal and forensic accounting teams worked through the weekend to compile an airtight dossier.
We didn't just have bank statements; we had digital paper trails, email correspondence between Apex Horizon’s junior legal counsel and Richard Evans, and signed property transfer deeds that proved Vance had knowingly financed a federal fugitive to execute a targeted character assassination.
By Sunday evening, the formal press invitations had been dispatched to every major news outlet, financial journal, and City Council member in the state. The subject line was deliberately provocative: An Emergency Briefing on Corporate Ethics and Unfair Trade Practices by Apex Horizon Holdings.
Naturally, my phone started ringing off the hook by Sunday night.
The first call came at 8:30 PM from Victor Vance himself. His voice, usually smooth and dripping with patronizing corporate charm, sounded tight and strained.
"Ms. Evans," Vance began without a greeting. "I received an... interesting invitation to your press conference tomorrow morning."
"I'm glad your assistant knows how to read calendar appointments, Mr. Vance," I replied smoothly, leaning back in my home office chair.
"Let's not play games," Vance sneered, dropping the polite facade entirely. "Whatever petty grievances you have regarding your family matters have no place in a commercial bidding war. If you think a stunt like this is going to influence the City Council's decision on the Union Pacific yard, you're severely mistaken. My legal team will slap you with a defamation countersuit before you even step up to the podium."
I let out a calm, quiet laugh.
"You're welcome to try, Victor. But before you call your lawyers on Monday morning, I suggest you ask your chief financial officer to review the wire transfer logs from six weeks ago. Specifically, the thirty-five thousand dollar consulting advance sent to a man currently residing in federal custody for union embezzlement."
There was a dead silence on the other end of the line. The heavy breathing of a panicked man calculation his impending doom.
"You're bluffing," Vance said, though his voice lacked conviction.
"I never bluff, Victor," I whispered coldly. "See you at ten o'clock sharp. Don't be late—the front row seats are reserved just for you."
I hung up the phone before he could reply.
Monday morning broke with crisp autumn sunlight cutting through the glass facade of the downtown convention center. By 9:45 AM, the press gallery was packed to capacity. Microphones lined the oak podium, camera lenses glittered under the stage lights, and several members of the City Council sat grimly in the front row, whispering among themselves.
At precisely 9:55 AM, the side doors opened, and Victor Vance walked in flanked by two corporate attorneys. He looked immaculate in his charcoal-grey suit, but the tight, nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the panic underneath. He took his seat in the front row, glaring directly at me as I stood backstage reviewing my notes.
Arthur walked up beside me, handing me a fresh folder. "The federal judge just signed off on the subpoena for Apex Horizon's internal communications. Marcus is standing by with the marshals if Vance decides to bolt."
May you like
I straightened my blazer, took a deep breath, and walked out onto the bright stage.
The camera flashes blinded me for a fraction of a second, but I didn't blink. I stepped up to the microphone, looked out over the sea of reporters, and began the takedown.
