Chapter 4 - The Country Club Connection
The morning after Ethan’s arrest, the suburban quiet of our neighborhood was shattered by the arrival of a legal team from Hayes, Vance & Associates—a powerful corporate law firm representing several prominent members of the local country club.
I was sitting in my living room with my sister Sarah and my divorce attorney, Marcus Vance (who, ironically, had no relation to Detective Vance), when the doorbell rang.
Sarah answered it. A tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal suit stepped into the foyer, carrying a leather briefcase.
"Mrs. Hayes," the man said, offering a stiff nod. "My name is Harrison Blake. I represent several private associates of your husband, Ethan Hayes."
"Get out of my house," I said from the sofa, my arm resting in its sling.
"I advise you to listen to what I have to say first, Mrs. Hayes," Blake said, stepping uninvited into the living room. "Your husband owes significant financial obligations to several high-net-worth individuals. Obligations that were secured using guarantees tied to your residential property and your corporate stock options."
Marcus stood up, stepping between Blake and me. "I am Claire’s legal counsel. Any communication regarding marital assets or outstanding liabilities must go through my office. And for the record, Ethan Hayes had no legal power of attorney to pledge my client’s private real estate or pre-marital stock."
Blake smiled thinly, pulling a sheet of paper from his briefcase. "He didn't need power of attorney, Mr. Vance. He had a forged spousal consent agreement executed eighteen months ago, bearing a notary stamp from a public notary in Cook County. Under that agreement, $400,000 was advanced to Ethan's holding account."
My heart stopped. $400,000?
"That notary stamp is fraudulent," Marcus snapped. "My client was in Seattle on business on the date indicated on that document. We have flight logs and hotel receipts to prove it."
"That may be true," Blake replied smoothly. "But my clients are not patient people, Mr. Vance. They do not care about domestic disputes or forged signatures. They want their capital returned by the end of the week. If Mrs. Hayes refuses to sell this residence to clear her husband's markers, my clients will execute a judicial lien against the property."
"Let them try," I said, standing up from the couch despite the throbbing pain in my forearm. I stepped right up to Harrison Blake. "Your 'clients' are illegal sports gambling syndicate members who were using my husband as a glorified bagman. You think I’m intimidated by a man in a expensive suit carrying fake liens?"
Blake’s smile faded slightly. "Mrs. Hayes, you are playing a very dangerous game."
"No," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket with my right hand. "Your clients played a dangerous game when they let Patricia and Ethan assault me in my own garage. Detective Vance from the Financial Crimes Unit already has the entire list of Ethan's sports book clients. Do you think your high-net-worth country club members want their names splashed across the front page of the Chicago Tribune tomorrow morning?"
Blake’s eyes narrowed.
"I’m giving you five seconds to turn around and leave this house," I continued. "If you ever step foot on my property again, I will release every ledger entry Ethan stored in his garage safe to the federal prosecutors."
Blake stood motionless for two seconds, calculating his options. Then he closed his briefcase with a loud snap.
"You're making a mistake, Mrs. Hayes," he said quietly. "Ethan wasn't the top of the chain. He was just the cashier."
He turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
May you like
Sarah let out a long breath. "Claire... who was he talking about? Who is the top of the chain?"
"I don't know," I said, turning to Marcus. "But Ethan’s mother knows. Patricia was the one managing the books. It’s time we pay a visit to Patricia in the county jail."
