Chapter 6 - The War Room
By Monday morning, my hospital room had officially been converted into a high-stakes legal war room.
Marcus Vance arrived at 8:00 a.m. sharp, flanked by a young associate carrying two towering stacks of red-labeled legal folders. When I handed him Barron’s leather ledger, Marcus’s eyes widened behind his designer frames.
“Where did you get this?” Marcus asked, flipping rapidly through the handwritten pages filled with routing numbers, Swiss bank references, and real estate shell-company titles.
“A gift from the patriarch,” I replied dryly, leaning back against my pillows. “Barron decided he’d rather cooperate with the prosecution than spend his golden years sharing a cell block with his wife.”
Marcus let out a low whistle, a grin spreading slowly across his face. “Clover, this is the Holy Grail. These offshore accounts link directly to embezzlement from Luke’s corporate employer—funds he used to purchase the very house you were trapped in. Not only are we going to clean them out in the divorce proceedings, but his company’s legal team is going to hit him with federal white-collar fraud charges.”
“Good,” I said, feeling a cold, satisfying surge of empowerment. “I want every single layer of their security stripped away. I want them to experience what it feels like to have absolutely nothing.”
“Consider it done,” Marcus said, pulling out a digital tablet. “Now, let’s talk about strategy for the arraignment hearing this afternoon. Celina and Luke’s defense attorneys are scrambling. They’ve tried to file a motion claiming the audio recording was illegally obtained and inadmissible. But under Illinois single-party consent laws—since you were a party to the conversation taking place in your own residence during a violent felony—the judge threw their motion out within five minutes.”
“And the physical evidence?”
“Forensics came back this morning. The blood on the rolling pin matches yours, and fibers from your sweatpants were embedded in the wood grain. They’re facing Class X felony charges for aggravated domestic battery resulting in permanent bodily harm, plus kidnapping and conspiracy charges. Bail has been denied for both of them due to flight risk.”
I let out a long, slow breath, closing my eyes as the immense weight of the past week finally began to lift from my shoulders. They were locked up. They couldn't hurt me anymore. They couldn't hurt anyone else.
“Marcus,” I said quietly, opening my eyes. “What about the house? Ashbourne Manor—the place they trapped me in.”
“It’s currently under a police seal for forensics,” Marcus said. “Once the criminal trial concludes, the property will be seized by the state under asset forfeiture laws, or awarded to you as part of the civil settlement for damages.”
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“I don’t want to live there,” I said firmly. “I want it sold. Every brick, every floorboard. I want the proceeds donated entirely to a local battered women’s shelter.”
Marcus nodded with deep respect. “Done. Let’s make it happen.”
