Chapter 6 - The Devil’s Bargain
"What condition?" I asked, my voice dropping to a cautious whisper as I stared out the sunroom window at my father pushing Piper gently on the backyard swing.
Attorney Harrison Cole chuckled softly on the other end of the line, a sound devoid of any real warmth. "Let’s not discuss legal settlements over a cell phone connection, Mrs. Calloway. Mr. Vance is currently staying at his private office suite downtown off Congress Avenue. If you can be here within the hour, we can lay all the cards on the table. Bring your marriage certificate and your personal bank statements."
"I am not playing games with Marcus Vance," I snapped. "If you have an offer, state it now."
"My client holds all the cards, Mrs. Calloway," Cole replied smoothly, his tone hardening just enough to show teeth. "You can drive down here voluntarily and negotiate terms that protect your personal assets, or you can wait forty-eight hours and watch federal marshals lock the doors while your husband's entire financial life is auctioned off to the highest bidder. The choice is yours."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
I lowered the phone slowly, my hand trembling slightly. My mother stood up immediately, her face etched with maternal fury. "Who was that? What did they want?"
"That was Marcus Vance's lawyer," I said, pacing across the kitchen tile. "They want me to meet them downtown within the hour. Vance claims he has an offer that can wipe out Wes's debt and protect my personal assets, but he wants to negotiate face-to-face."
"Mara, it's a trap," my father said, stepping in from the sunroom with Piper riding on his shoulders. He set our daughter down gently and walked over to join us. "Vance didn't buy that debt to make friends. He’s a vulture. If he wants to meet you alone without Wes present, he’s looking for leverage."
"I know it's a trap, Dad," I replied, my mind racing through our dwindling options. "But if there's even a fraction of a chance I can protect my credit, secure my independence, and figure out how to help those kids, I have to hear what he has to say."
"You are not going alone," my father insisted, squaring his shoulders. "I'm driving you into Austin, and I'll wait in the lobby of that office building the entire time."
Thirty minutes later, my father and I pulled into downtown Austin under a graying sky that matched my turbulent mood. The sleek glass-and-steel high-rise overlooking Lady Bird Lake loomed imposingly against the horizon.
As I rode the private elevator up to the fortieth floor, my palms grew slick with sweat. The elevator doors slid open to reveal a minimalist, ultra-modern reception area finished in stark black marble and brushed chrome. A receptionist with razor-sharp posture looked up from her desk.
"Mrs. Calloway? Mr. Vance is expecting you in Conference Room B."
She escorted me down a long, glass-walled corridor. When she pushed open the heavy oak door, Marcus Vance was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the glittering expanse of the city, swirling a glass of amber liquid. Harrison Cole sat at the polished conference table with a thick manila folder opened before him.
Vance turned slowly, flashing that cold, predatory smile. "Mara. Thank you for making the trip. Please, sit down."
I didn't move. I remained standing by the door, keeping my posture rigid. "Skip the pleasantries, Marcus. What do you want?"
Vance chuckled softly, taking a slow sip from his glass before setting it down. He walked toward the table, resting his palms on the polished wood. "Straight to business. I respect that. You're much smarter than your husband, Mara. Which is precisely why we need to talk."
"Talk about what?"
Vance gestured to the empty chair opposite his lawyer. "Sit down, and I'll show you."
Reluctantly, I pulled the chair out and sat down, keeping my eyes locked on his. Cole slid a single sheet of paper across the table toward me.
I looked down at the document. My breath hitched in my throat.
It wasn't a foreclosure notice. It was a conditional asset-transfer agreement.
"What is this?" I whispered.
"It's your ticket out," Vance said smoothly, leaning against the back of his chair. "Wes is legally, financially, and professionally ruined. But you... you have a clean credit history, a well-paying remote job, and no legal liability for his commercial debts—*yet*."
"Yet?" I echoed, my blood running cold.
"Yet," Vance repeated, his smile sharpening. "Unless, of course, we uncover the transfers Wes made into your personal savings account over the last eight months. Transfers that, legally speaking, could be interpreted as fraudulent concealment of assets from creditors."
The room seemed to tilt on its axis. "What are you talking about? Wes never transferred money into my personal account. He explicitly told me—"
"Wes lied to you about that, too," Cole chimed in smoothly, sliding a bank ledger printout across the table.
I snatched the paper up, my eyes scanning the transaction codes. There, dated three months ago, was a twenty-thousand-dollar wire transfer originating from Wes's business account directly into my independent savings account, labeled innocently as *Home Maintenance Reimbursement*.
"I never touched that money," I breathed, panic clawing at my throat. "I didn't even know it was there!"
May you like
"Legally, ignorance is not a defense against receiving stolen creditor funds, Mrs. Calloway," Vance said softly, resting his elbows on the table and leaning in close. "Which brings us to my offer."
***
