Chapter 7 - The Trap Is Set
By Thursday night, the counter-offensive was meticulously planned.
Preston and Marcus Vance sat at our dining table in Denver, surrounded by financial audits, wire transfer records, and federal subpoenas. The state attorney general had finally agreed to sign off on a grand jury investigation into Meridian Holdings, but the timeline was too slow. If we waited for a formal indictment, Vance-Smith’s front company would foreclose on my father’s business by Friday at 5:00 PM.
We needed a faster lever. We needed Vance-Smith to make a public mistake.
“He’s arrogant,” Marcus said, tapping a pen against a printed email thread between Meridian’s corporate counsel and a local commercial real estate broker. “Vance-Smith thinks he’s untouchable because he hides behind shell companies and offshore accounts. But he loves the spotlight. He’s hosting a private charity gala tomorrow night at the Brown Palace Hotel to announce his new downtown redevelopment bid.”
Preston looked up from a financial ledger, his eyes narrowing. “A public charity gala. Which means half the city council, the mayor, and the local press will be in attendance.”
“Exactly,” Marcus smiled grimly. “And we’re going to crash it.”
“Not we,” Preston corrected him, a dangerous, razor-thin smile touching the corner of his lips. “You and the state investigators will be executing a search warrant on Meridian’s local offices. I’ll be somewhere else.”
“Where?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee.
Preston looked at me, his expression softening just a fraction before turning back to Marcus. “I’m going to pay Victor Vance-Smith a personal visit at his private VIP suite in the Brown Palace an hour before the gala begins. No badges. No warrants. Just one citizen having a conversation with another.”
“Preston, that’s insane,” I protested, setting the coffee pot down hard enough to splash dark liquid over the rim. “He’s dangerous! He’s using hired thugs and economic sabotage! If you go there alone—!”
“I won’t be alone,” Preston interrupted gently, standing up and taking my hands. “I’ll be wearing a federal recording wire authorized under the ongoing extortion investigation. Every word he says will be streamed directly to Marcus’s tactical unit waiting in the lobby.”
Marcus nodded in agreement. “It’s risky, Audrey, but it’s the only way to get him on tape admitting to the extortion of your father’s business and the conspiracy involving Brenda. Once he confesses on a federal wire, we don't just stop the foreclosure—we put Vance-Smith away for twenty years.”
I looked between my husband and his oldest friend. The weight of our unborn daughter pressed heavily against my thoughts. We had come too far to turn back now. Brenda was in a jail cell awaiting arraignment, and the mastermind behind her betrayal was sitting in a luxury hotel downtown, sipping champagne and waiting to destroy my family.
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“Make sure your wire works, Preston,” I said quietly.
He kissed my forehead, his touch firm and reassuring. “I always win my cases, Audrey. You know that.”
