In the Chicago executive suite, Vincent had spent seventy-two continuous hours at his desk, dismantling his own inner circle.
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Four senior accountants who had turned a blind eye to the Wilmington transfers were terminated without severance and referred to the SEC.
Yet despite the carnage he unleashed upon his empire, Vincent found no peace within the silence of his mahogany tower.
Every document he signed, every contract he reviewed, seemed mocking and completely hollow without an heir to carry the name.
On Wednesday afternoon, Frank Vance walked into the corner office, placing a certified cashier’s check on the green blotter.
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“The five million four hundred thousand dollars has been completely recovered from Sophia’s foreign holding accounts,” Frank reported.
“Where do you want the funds deposited, Vincent?” the attorney asked, his voice weary from the marathon of litigation.
Vincent picked up the check, staring at the numbers that represented eighteen years of his firstborn son’s stolen childhood.
