Chapter 6 - The Seizure of AssetsFollowing the bail hearing, the legal dominoes I had set in motion fell with terrifying, unstoppable momentum.
Under the terms of the Federal Asset Forfeiture Act and the State Victim Restitution Statute, Arthur Sterling executed a total financial freeze on every account, property, and vehicle linked to Marcus Vance.
On a bright, crisp Thursday afternoon, I arrived at a luxury high-rise apartment building in downtown Chicago alongside Arthur Sterling and two federal marshals.
We rode the elevator up to the top floor, stopping outside a penthouse suite.
Arthur knocked firmly on the door.
The door opened to reveal Victoria—Marcus’s corporate assistant and mistress—wearing an expensive silk robe, holding a glass of wine.
When she saw me standing in the hallway, flanked by federal marshals, her face drained of every drop of color. “Who... who are you? How did you get up here?”
I walked straight past her into the sunlit foyer, taking in the panoramic views of the city skyline.
“I am Claire Vale,” I said calmly, looking at her. “The woman whose trust fund paid for this penthouse, that wine, and the diamond necklace resting around your neck.”
Victoria panicked, clutching her robe tightly around herself. “This... this apartment belongs to Marcus! He promised me he was divorcing his crazy wife!”
Arthur Sterling pulled an official federal seizure order from his leather briefcase.
“Mr. Vance used $400,000 in embezzled trust capital to secure this lease and purchase the furnishings, Miss Victoria,” Arthur informed her coolly. “As of twelve o'clock today, the lease has been revoked, and all personal property acquired with stolen funds has been impounded by the United States Marshals Service.”
Marshal Rodriguez stepped forward. “Ma'am, you have twenty minutes to pack your personal clothing and vacate the premises.”
Victoria burst into frantic, desperate tears. “Twenty minutes?! Where am I supposed to go?! Marcus told me he had millions!”
“Marcus is currently sitting in a federal penitentiary awaiting trial, Miss Victoria,” I said softly, looking her dead in her eyes. “I suggest you start packing.”
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For twenty minutes, Victoria frantically stuffed her clothes into bags while federal marshals cataloged every piece of artwork, designer handbag, and jewelry inside the apartment.
When she finally fled down the elevator, weeping in disgrace, I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city below, feeling the last lingering lingering shadow of betrayal melt away from my heart.
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