Chapter 5 - The Fall of the House of Sterling
The rotunda had devolved into an amphitheater of public ruin.
The financial crimes investigator, Investigator Miller, stepped through the parting crowd of elites, producing an arrest warrant bearing Preston Sterling’s name.
"Preston Sterling? You are being placed under arrest for grand larceny in the first degree, securities fraud, and illegal diversion of regulated trust assets," Miller stated flatly, his voice carrying an administrative finality that hit Preston like a physical blow.
"No, wait! Listen to me!" Preston cried out, spinning around, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "This is an internal corporate dispute! My lawyers will have this dismissed by morning! Arthur! Call our firm’s counsel!"
Arthur Vance looked down into his scotch glass, his expression granite. "The board met in an emergency session at six o'clock, Preston. In light of the forensic audit provided by Mr. Ashford, your employment was terminated with cause. Your indemnification clause is void."
"Cassidy did it!" Preston shrieked, pointing a shaking, manicured finger at the woman beside him. "She set up the Cayman accounts! She came to my office every afternoon, whispering in my ear, telling me Vivian was dead weight! She forged the corporate stamps!"
Cassidy recoiled as if she had been slapped across the face. The sweet, fragile persona she had worn for nine months vanished, replaced by the shrieking fury of a cornered animal.
"You coward!" she screamed, lunging at him with her nails bared, catching him across the cheek and leaving three bright red scratches. "You begged me to sleep with you! You told me your scarred-up freak of a wife made you sick to your stomach! You promised me I would be the First Lady of Ashford-Sterling! You swore you’d leave her with nothing but her medical bills!"
The flashbulbs were blinding. The press corps was having a field day, capturing every second of the pair clawing at each other amidst the shattered glass of the gala floor.
"And what about the child?" Vivian asked quietly, her voice slicing through the cacophony.
Cassidy froze, her hands hovering in the air.
Vivian took two slow, measured steps toward her, the diamonds on her back catching the light with every breath. She reached out and plucked a small document from Investigator Miller’s folder, holding it open so Cassidy could see the letterhead.
"Dr. Robert Chen, Chief of Endocrinology at Columbia Presbyterian," Vivian read aloud, loud enough for every board member to hear. "Patient: Cassidy Vaughn. Dated three weeks ago. Prescription records indicating long-term administration of fertility hormones to mimic elevated hCG levels, combined with a silicone prosthetic appliance purchased online from a theatrical costume house in Burbank."
Vivian looked up, her gaze pinning Cassidy to the stone floor.
"You aren't pregnant, Cassidy. You never were. You bought a bump and an ultrasound printout from a forum in New Jersey to force Preston to accelerate the equity transfer before the annual audit."
A horrified silence dropped over the room.
Preston stared at Cassidy, his jaw slack, his face draining of what little color remained. He looked down at the soft, rounded swell beneath her emerald gown, then back up at her eyes, which were now wide with the terror of absolute exposure.
"You... you lied to me?" Preston whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood. "I gave you six million dollars! I signed the transfer deeds for you!"
"You gave me what I deserved for listening to you whine about your pathetic life every night!" Cassidy spat, her face twisting into an ugly snarl as Investigator Miller stepped forward, clicking a pair of stainless steel handcuffs around her wrists. "You’re an idiot, Preston! You’re nothing without her, and everyone in this room has always known it!"
"Both of you, move," Miller commanded, nodding to his partner.
As the officers pulled Cassidy toward the exit, her heels dragging against the marble, Preston tried to turn back toward Vivian. He fell to his knees on the slick floor, heedless of the broken glass biting into his trousers.
"Vivian! Vivian, look at me!" he pleaded, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, ruining his perfect, handsome face. "I saved you too! We had five good years! You loved me! You can't let them take me out of here in chains! Think of the Sterling name!"
Vivian looked down at him from the heights of her magnificent, diamond-clad composure.
"The Sterling name died in the fire five years ago, Preston," she whispered. "I just took five years to realize it."
Gideon Ashford stepped up beside her, his tall frame casting a long shadow that completely covered Preston on the floor. He rested a firm, warm hand on the small of Vivian’s back, his long fingers gently touching the platinum filigree without an ounce of hesitation.
"Get him out of here," Gideon told the officers.
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The crowd watched in complete, breathless awe as Preston Sterling was hoisted up by his arms, weeping and babbling incoherencies, and dragged down the grand stairs of the Metropolitan Museum into the flashing red-and-blue lights of the waiting police cruisers.
***
