Chapter 8 - Sienna’s Fall from Grace
At 4:00 p.m., the Back Bay neighborhood of Boston was buzzing with spectators, reporters, and smartphone cameras.
Parked outside the luxury high-rise condominium building on Commonwealth Avenue were two large, unmarked federal moving vans and three Boston Police cruisers. Pedestrians on the sidewalk stopped to watch as uniform officers and federal agents carried out armloads of luxury items: racks of couture evening gowns, dozens of orange Hermès boxes, vintage champagne cases, and massive contemporary art pieces.
Standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by flashing cameras, was Sienna Brooks.
She had been released on supervised electronic monitoring after agreeing to cooperate fully with the federal prosecution. But freedom felt worse than the jail cell.
She stood shivering on the cold pavement, clutching a cheap paper shopping bag containing only her driver’s license, a pair of worn leggings, and her personal cellphone—the only items the federal marshals had determined were purchased prior to her relationship with Arthur.
“Excuse me, Ms. Brooks! Over here!” a reporter from the *Boston Herald* shouted, shoving a microphone into her face. “Is it true that Arthur Vance embezzled forty million dollars to fund your influencer lifestyle?”
“Did you know the tennis bracelet was stolen property, Sienna?” another reporter yelled.
“Are you facing seven years in federal prison?”
Sienna held her hand up to shield her face, her eyes red and puffy, her designer pride entirely annihilated. “Leave me alone! Please! Just leave me alone!”
Just then, a sleek black Bentley Flying Spur pulled up to the curb.
The tinted rear window rolled down slowly.
Sienna’s breath hitched. “Eleanor?”
Eleanor sat in the back of the heated leather interior, holding a cup of espresso. She looked down at Sienna through dark Italian sunglasses.
Sienna rushed to the car door, her eyes wild with desperate hope. “Eleanor! Mrs. Vance! Please tell them to stop! They’re taking everything! My clothes, my shoes, my apartment! Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?!”
Eleanor lowered her sunglasses slightly, looking Sienna up and down with unhurried contempt.
“The lease on that penthouse was paid for with my mother’s dividend funds, Ms. Brooks,” Eleanor said, her voice quiet enough that only Sienna could hear it over the roar of the press. “The furniture was bought with money Arthur stole from our retirement accounts. You didn't earn a single thread on your back.”
“I’m testifying against him!” Sienna pleaded, tears spilling over her mascara-free cheeks. “I gave the feds everything! I’m putting him in prison for you! Can’t you at least leave me a few bags? Something to sell so I don’t end up on the street?!”
Eleanor took a slow sip of her espresso.
“You’re not putting Arthur in prison for me, Sienna. You’re putting him in prison because you’re a coward who would sell out her own soul to save her skin.”
Eleanor leaned closer to the open window.
“You wore my mother’s bracelet at the airport. You posed for that photo. You smiled while my husband called me a useless woman.”
Eleanor reached into her purse, pulled out a crisp, single twenty-dollar bill, and let it flutter through the open window onto the slushy sidewalk at Sienna’s feet.
“Take the subway to a shelter, Sienna,” Eleanor said softly. “It’s more than you left me.”
May you like
The window rolled up smoothly, cutting off Sienna’s horrified gasps. The black Bentley accelerated smoothly into the Boston traffic, leaving Sienna Brooks standing in the snow, surrounded by flashing cameras and the wreckage of her hollow ambition.
***
