Chapter 5 - The Penthouse SeizureWith Daniel terminated from the company and Lorraine evicted from the estate, my legal team turned its attention to the secret luxury penthouse Daniel had maintained in downtown Manhattan.
For two years, Daniel had used corporate funds—roughly thirty thousand dollars a month—to rent a triplex penthouse overlooking Central Park, claiming on tax filings that it was an "essential corporate hospitality venue."
In reality, it was where he spent his weekends drinking fine wine, throwing lavish parties for his high-society friends, and hosting a young mistress named Victoria, whom he had promised to marry once he successfully pushed me out of the company.
On Thursday afternoon at 3:00 p.m., Miriam Cross, Chief Auditor Arthur Sterling, two federal marshals, and I arrived at the penthouse building.
We rode the private elevator up to the top floor.
When the doors opened directly into the sunlit, floor-to-ceiling glass foyer of the penthouse, we found Victoria lounging on a white velvet sofa, sipping champagne, surrounded by designer shopping bags.
She looked up in shock, setting her glass down. “Excuse me?! Who are you people? How did you get up here? This is Daniel Vance’s private residence!”
I walked into the center of the living room, taking in the absurd luxury bought with my father’s hard-earned money.
“Daniel Vance doesn't own this penthouse,” I said calmly, looking at her. “Vale North Holdings pays the lease. And I am Clara Vale, the sole owner of Vale North Holdings.”
Victoria’s face drained of color. “Clara...? Daniel told me his wife was a helpless invalid who lived in a care facility!”
Arthur Sterling chuckled softly, pulling out a thick folder of lease agreements. “Mr. Vance lied to you, Miss Victoria. And as of 12:00 p.m. today, the lease on this property has been officially terminated due to fraudulent corporate expenditure.”
Federal Marshal Jenkins stepped forward, holding an official seizure notice. “Ma'am, you have thirty minutes to collect your personal belongings and vacate the premises.”
Victoria panicked, rushing to her feet. “Vacate?! Where am I supposed to go?! Daniel promised me this apartment was paid for through next year!”
“Daniel is currently sitting in a county holding cell waiting for his arraignment, Miss Victoria,” Miriam Cross informed her coolly. “I suggest you start packing.”
For thirty minutes, Victoria frantically stuffed her clothes into suitcases while federal marshals inventoried every piece of art, fine wine, and luxury furniture inside the penthouse.
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When she finally left, weeping as she boarded the elevator, I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, looking out at the sweeping view of Central Park below.
Every lie Daniel had constructed, every secret sanctuary he had built on my pain, was crumbling into dust before his eyes.
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