I cooked your meals, did your laundry, let you scold me for not dusting the library properly, all while I was running a multinational conglomerate from my encrypted phone in the laundry room.
She leaned across the podium, looking directly at him. “Did you want a lioness, Preston?”
“You got one and you’re starving her?” She straightened up, addressing the entire room. “Tonight was supposed to be Preston’s big night. He told me he’d be meeting with serious investors, and he is.” She gestured toward the tables surrounding Preston.
The men and women sitting there, people Preston had assumed were just other wealthy guests, all turned to look at him.
Breston knows the board of directors of the Aurora group, and there the senior partners of the forensic accounting firm I hired 3 months ago have been tracking every penny you embezzled from the company account to fund your lifestyle and your assistant.
Tiffany let out a small squeal and tried to slide her chair away from Preston, but she was cornered.
“This isn’t a gala for you, Preston,” Vivian said, delivering the final blow. “This is your performance review, and I regret to inform you that your contract is being terminated with immediate effect, to your extreme detriment.”
The air in the ballroom was no longer filled with the scent of expensive perfume and truffles. It was the laughter of Preston’s despair.
He sat down in the chair, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white, resembling the bones of a skeleton. Vivien stepped off the stage. She did not return to Preston immediately.
Instead, she signaled to a man sitting at table four, a table Preston had previously dismissed as administrative staff, because they didn’t wear tuxedos, they wore sharp gray suits, the uniform of executioners.
“Mr. Henderson,” Vivien said, her voice projecting effortlessly without the microphone, now silencing the lingering whispers. “Could you please guide Mr. Preston through Project Icarus?” Mr. Henderson stood up.
He was a man who looked as if he had never smiled in his life. He adjusted his wire-framed glasses and picked up a thick leather folder. He walked over to Preston’s table, dropping the folder with a heavy thud that rattled the silverware.
Project Icarus began with Henderson. His dry, paper-like voice is the internal designation we gave his file. Sir, well, we’ll get to the name in a moment. He’s referring, of course, to the man who flew too close to the sun. Preston found his voice.
Her voice was hoarse and weak. “You can’t do this. This is a trap. I demand a lawyer.” “And you have a lawyer,” Henderson said calmly.
He’s sitting at table nine. He works for us. In fact, the advance you paid him last week came from the Aurora Group’s Legal Defense Fund, which you accessed without authorization.
He essentially paid his lawyer with his wife’s money to defend himself against his wife.
A wave of dark laughter swept through the room. Preston glanced toward table nine. His lawyer, a man named Davis, simply raised a wine glass in a mock toast and looked away. Henderson opened the folder. “Let’s discuss the business trips, shall we?”
On October 14, you stated that you were in Chicago meeting with the Board of Trade. An expense report was submitted for $500 for airfare, hotel, and client entertainment.
Henderson pulled out a glossy photograph and placed it on the table in front of Preston. “This is a picture of you and Miss Tiffany Jenkins at Disney World on October 14th. You’re wearing Mickey Mouse ears.”
The customer’s entertainment, according to the credit card receipts, was a VIP tour of Magic Kingdom and dinner at Victoria at Alberts. Tiffany, who had been trying to shrink in her chair, suddenly stiffened. She clutched the photo.
You said that was a work retreat. You said your company owned part of Disney. He says a lot of things, Bien interrupted gently, taking a sip of water from a glass held by a waiter. Please continue, Mr. Henderson.
November 2nd. Henderson monotonously continued turning a page. The tech summit in San Francisco, $8,000 bill. However, the GPS tracker in the company car you lease but we own showed that the vehicle never left the state.
It was parked for 3 days at the Foxwoods Resort Casino. Henderson dropped a stack of casino chips onto the table. They clinked loudly. You lost $7,000 at the roulette table betting on red. It came up black.
A metaphor for his life. Preston was indeed sweating profusely. Now, the makeup he wore for the cameras—he always insisted on a bit of powder before big events. It was dripping down his neck.
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