Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of the Elite
The patio was in a state of absolute, irreversible shock.
The string lights overhead hummed softly, casting a warm glow over a scene of total social carnage. The elite of Minnetonka—the very people who had whispered behind my back six months ago, the ones who had accepted Richard’s invitation tonight to watch him humiliate his poor, divorced ex-wife—stood frozen, staring at the empty space where their golden boy had just been dragged away in handcuffs.
Arthur Pendelton, the senior managing partner, cleared his throat awkwardly. He straightened his tuxedo jacket, smoothed his gray hair, and walked slowly across the stone floor toward Daniel and me.
He didn't look at Daniel; his eyes were fixed entirely on me, swimming with a mixture of profound embarrassment and calculating respect.
"Clover," Arthur began, his voice tight and formal. "I... I had no idea. Richard presented internal audits every quarter that were immaculate. We trusted him."
"Of course you did, Arthur," I replied, my voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of malice. "It’s much easier to trust a charming liar than it is to look at the numbers. But as an attorney, you should really know: ink fades. Forensic audits don't."
Arthur swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "The firm will be filing a motion for receivership by morning. Every asset Richard owns—including this estate—will be liquidated to make the municipal pension funds whole. Clover... regarding your forensic firm... would your schedule permit a consultation with our senior partnership next week? We could use someone with your specific... attention to detail."
I offered him a polite, untouchable smile. "My calendar is currently quite full, Arthur. But my assistant can check our availability for next month."
Arthur blinked, clearly taken aback by the casual dismissal from the woman Richard had spent six months painting as a desperate, destitute outcast. He bowed his head slightly and retreated back into the murmuring crowd.
Around us, the party was dissolving into a mass exodus. Guests were grabbing their designer coats, whispering frantically among themselves, terrified that their own names might appear on the upcoming federal asset-seizure warrants. Within ten minutes, the sprawling stone patio—once filled with laughing socialites eager to toast Richard’s success—was completely empty, save for the caterers picking up shattered glass and Daniel and me.
I let out a long, slow breath, feeling a massive, invisible weight slide off my shoulders and vanish into the night air.
May you like
I looked down at my hands. They weren't shaking anymore.
"Well," I murmured, turning to look up at the tall, impeccably dressed federal auditor standing beside me. "That certainly beats quiet drinks at a local diner."
