Chapter 7 - The Master Stroke
Richard Croft stared at me, evaluating the threat. He realized, perhaps for the first time in his life, that he was looking at someone who hated him more than she feared him.
"You have nothing," Richard bluffed, though his voice lacked its usual certainty. "A few diamonds in a painting? My lawyers will say the gallery curator was smuggling them. We will deny everything. My son’s assault charge? A misdemeanor at best. We will pay the fines."
I pulled a small, black remote from my purse.
"You should really look up at the screens, Richard."
I pressed the button. The massive digital projectors switched feeds again.
This time, it wasn't a bank ledger. It was a live video feed. It showed the exterior of the Croft Industries corporate headquarters downtown. A fleet of black armored SUVs was parked on the front lawn. Dozens of agents wearing FBI windbreakers were carrying out boxes of physical files and hard drives.
"While you were standing outside this building, screaming at a titanium door, my father was meeting with the Director of the FBI," I explained softly. "We handed over all the ledgers. The encrypted emails. The offshore account details. We gave them the entire map of your smuggling operation."
Richard’s face drained of color. The arrogance shattered, replaced by genuine, unadulterated horror.
"And as for the assault," I continued, pressing the button again.
The screen shifted to a high-definition, multi-angle replay of Preston shoving me into the fountain. It was crystal clear. But the video didn't stop there. It showed Preston’s friends laughing. It showed the judge turning away. It showed the senator ignoring it.
"Every major news network in the country received this video five minutes ago," I smiled. "Along with the names of every single 'respectable' person in this room who watched it happen and did nothing. You can't bribe a jury when the entire world has already seen the crime, Richard."
Preston began to sob, burying his face in his hands.
May you like
Richard staggered backward, leaning heavily against a marble pillar for support. His empire, built over decades of blood and bribery, was disintegrating in front of his eyes.
"It's over," I told him. "You are going to die in a federal prison. And your son is going with you."
