Chapter 4 - The Midnight Raid on the Penthouse
While the gala descended into an uproar of corporate panic, Blake slipped through the service kitchen and sped toward our Gold Coast penthouse.
Driven by frantic, animal desperation, he knew he had less than an hour to destroy the physical evidence before the federal injunction landed.
He burst through the double mahogany doors of our four-million-dollar penthouse, tearing off his jacket and sprinting toward his private study.
He shoved the oil painting aside, entered his six-digit code into the wall safe, and yanked the heavy steel door open.
Inside sat stacks of foreign bearer bonds, duplicate hard drives, and two forged Bahamian passports bearing his and Seraphina’s photographs.
As Blake grabbed the leather briefcase to stuff the files inside, the heavy leather armchair behind the desk slowly turned around.
Sitting in the shadows, sipping a cup of black coffee, was Lead Special Agent Marcus Reed of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Beside him stood four armed federal marshals wearing tactical windbreakers, their hands resting on their holstered sidearms.
“Looking for your travel documents, Mr. Vance?” Agent Reed asked in a calm, gravelly baritone that froze Blake’s blood.
Blake dropped the leather briefcase, the stacks of bearer bonds scattering across the Persian rug like worthless autumn leaves.
“This is my private residence!” Blake stammered, backing away toward the open doorway.
“You have no search warrant to enter my home without my legal counsel present!”
Agent Reed picked up a red-sealed legal folder from the desk, holding it under the desk lamp for Blake to see.
“This is not your residence, Blake,” Agent Reed replied with cold, razor-sharp precision.
“This penthouse was purchased by Audrey Vance three years before she ever met you, and she granted federal access forty-five minutes ago.”
“Under Federal Warrant 4091, this property is an active crime scene in an international corporate espionage and trade secret theft investigation.”
Two federal marshals stepped forward, grabbing Blake by his arms and pinning him face-first onto the polished mahogany desk.
The sharp, metallic snap of heavy steel handcuffs echoed through the silent apartment as his arms were wrenched behind his back.
“Audrey set me up!” Blake screamed, thrashing against the wood as his face was pressed into the scattered bonds.
“She planned this whole thing with Damien Sterling!”
Agent Reed leaned down, his face inches from the disgraced executive’s ear.
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“Audrey didn't set you up, Blake; you spent nine months documenting your own crimes in text messages to your mistress.”
“Now take a deep breath, because you are going to spend the night in a federal holding cell at the Dirksen Center.”
