Chapter 5 - The Glass Room
The conference room on the forty-second floor of Vance & Sterling was known as "The Aquarium." It was encased entirely in floor-to-ceiling soundproof smart glass, overlooking the sprawling skyline of Chicago and the cold blue expanse of Lake Michigan.
When Richard and Eleanor Miller marched through the double doors, they looked like people arriving to negotiate an acquisition, not parents facing federal prison.
Richard wore his bespoke charcoal suit. He had showered and shaved, though the dark shadows under his eyes betrayed the night he had spent in a holding cell. Eleanor was wrapped in a beige cashmere coat, her chin held high, though her hands were clenched so tightly her leather gloves were straining at the seams.
Madison was sitting in the corner of the room, completely silent. When Eleanor saw her, she gasped.
“Madison! What are you doing here with her? Get over here right now!” Eleanor commanded, pointing a gloved finger toward the doorway. “You belong with your family!”
“I am with my family,” Madison said, her voice surprisingly steady, though she remained seated.
Richard didn't look at Madison. He fixed his bloodshot eyes on me. He saw the purple swelling around my temple, but not a single flicker of remorse passed across his face.
“You’ve had your little tantrum, Claire,” Richard said, dropping a thick manila envelope onto the frosted glass conference table. “You humiliated me. You humiliated your mother. You cost Madison her engagement to a Bradford. I hope you’re satisfied.”
“Sit down, Richard,” Julian Vance said, leaning against the credenza with his arms crossed.
“I’m not speaking to you, Vance,” Richard snapped. “This is a Miller family matter.”
“It stopped being a family matter the second you cracked a crystal platter over my head,” I said, resting my forearms on the table. “What’s in the envelope, Richard?”
Eleanor stepped forward, unbuttoning her coat. “It’s a comprehensive settlement agreement prepared by our estate attorney this morning. You will sign a full affidavit stating that the incident last night was an accidental collision—that you slipped on champagne and fell into the dessert display.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And the trust funds?”
“You will sign an acknowledgement stating that all withdrawals from Evelyn’s trust were authorized family loans granted to Apex Logistics for the mutual benefit of both heirs,” Eleanor continued without missing a beat. “In exchange, we will not pursue legal action against you for defamation, and we will allow you to keep your car.”
I blinked. For a second, I genuinely thought I had misheard her.
“You will *allow* me to keep my car?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.
“That’s right,” Richard sneered, leaning over the table, bringing his face inches from mine. The scent of sour coffee and nicotine washed over me. “You think you’re smart, Claire? You think because you have a little law degree from Northwestern you can take me down? I built this life. Everything you have—your education, your career, your smug sense of moral superiority—comes from the foundation I laid. If you go through with this, I will scorch the earth.”
“Tell me how, Richard,” I said, looking directly into his cold, vicious eyes. “Tell me how you’re going to scorch the earth.”
“I’ll file an ethics complaint with the Illinois Bar alleging you co-mingled client funds with that fraudulent trust accounting,” Richard hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I’ll tell them you forged my signature on the Lake Geneva equity line. I’ll make sure you never practice law in this state again. You’ll be ruined. You’ll be broke, unemployable, and alone.”
“Richard, stop,” Madison choked out from the corner. “Please, Dad, stop!”
“Shut up, Madison!” Richard roared, rounding on her. “You don't understand how the world works! You’re weak, just like her!”
I didn't flinch. Instead, I reached under the edge of the conference table and tapped a small silver button.
The frosted smart glass instantly turned completely transparent.
Directly outside the conference room, standing in the wide marble corridor, were four people.
The first was Detective Marcus Miller of the Chicago Police Department’s Special Financial Crimes Unit. The second was an assistant state's attorney holding a black leather binder. And behind them stood two senior investigators from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s White Collar Crime Division, badges displayed prominently on their lapels.
Mounted discreetly in the corner of the ceiling above Richard’s head was a high-definition omnidirectional camera, its green recording light blinking steadily.
Richard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The color completely drained from his face, leaving behind a grayish, sickly pallor.
“Richard Miller,” I said, standing up and towering over him as he leaned across the table. “You just committed felony extortion, witness intimidation, and attempted obstruction of justice on an encrypted federal surveillance feed.”
Eleanor let out a sharp, choked gasp, backing up until her spine hit the glass wall.
The conference room doors swung open. Detective Miller stepped inside, his hand resting casually on his duty belt.
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“Richard Miller, Eleanor Miller,” the detective said, his voice ringing through the room. “You are both under arrest. Please place your hands behind your backs.”
***
