Chapter 25 - The Fall of Julian Aldrich
Fifty miles north, inside a bare interrogation room on the twelfth floor of the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building in Lower Manhattan, Julian Aldrich was losing what was left of his mind.
His three-thousand-dollar Brioni suit was crumpled, the silk tie tossed onto the laminate floor hours ago. His cufflinks were gone, confiscated by the U.S. Marshals along with his phone, his wallet, and his Patek Philippe watch.
"You don't understand who I am!" Julian slammed his cuffed hands against the metal table, the sound echoing hollowly off the cinderblock walls. "Call Harrison at Cravath! Call the Attorney General! My father was Marcus Aldrich! You cannot hold me on a frozen credit line!"
Across the table, Assistant U.S. Attorney David Vance—my nephew, whom Julian had sneered at through the windshield of a limousine three years ago—sat calmly, flipping through a red leather folder.
"Julian," David said, not even looking up. "Your father was declared legally dead off the coast of Maine in 2014. If you keep claiming he's authorizing your bridge loans, I'll have to add probate fraud to the eleven counts of wire fraud already on this indictment."
"The money is there!" Julian’s voice cracked, high and frantic. "The offshore liquidity pool in Zurich—the Aldrich Sovereign Trust—it holds seven hundred million in bearer bonds! I am the sole signatory!"
"Were," David corrected gently, pulling out a freshly printed document from the Swiss Federal Banking Commission. "As of 9:15 PM, your signatory authority was revoked."
Julian froze, his bloodshot eyes bulging. "Revoked by whom? The board is locked! I own fifty-one percent of the voting shares!"
"You owned fifty-one percent through your marriage compact," David said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Under the 1991 Delaware Trust Act, that authority was contingent on the co-signature of your spouse. When you filed unilateral dissolution papers yesterday at the Manhattan Municipal Court, your status converted to non-beneficiary."
"Clara?" Julian let out a wild, disbelieving laugh. "Clara is a nobody! Her father is a broken-down dockworker who eats out of plastic containers! She doesn't own a dime of Aldrich capital!"
The heavy steel door of the interrogation room clicked open.
A man stepped in, carrying an expensive camel-hair coat over his arm. Julian looked up, expecting his senior counsel, expecting the cavalry.
The breath left his lungs in a sharp, strangled gasp.
"Father?"
Marcus Aldrich stood in the doorway, his eyes as cold and dead as the Arctic sea. Behind him stood two federal agents who didn't reach for their handcuffs—they stood at attention, as if guarding a head of state.
"You were always a careless boy, Julian," Marcus said softly.
"You're... you're alive?" Julian stammered, scrambling to his feet, the chain of his cuffs clattering against the chair. "Dad! They took the tower! They froze the accounts! That old bastard Arthur Vance ruined us—"
"Arthur Vance didn't ruin you," Marcus said, not moving a single step closer to his son. "You ruined yourself. You married the one person who could guarantee our family's survival, and then you humiliated her in front of fifty people because you wanted to impress a few junior partners from Midtown."
Marcus turned his head slightly toward David Vance.
"Take him to the MCC," Marcus said, referring to the Metropolitan Correctional Center. "His bail is denied. I’m not posting a single dollar."
"Dad! Dad, wait! What are you talking about?!" Julian screamed, his voice turning into a terrified shriek as two marshals seized him by the arms, forcing him toward the back exit. "Dad! Don't leave me here! Dad!"
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Marcus Aldrich didn't look back once. He turned toward David Vance, his expression unreadable.
"Tell your uncle Arthur," Marcus said quietly, "that the board meeting is at eight tomorrow morning. If Clara isn't in that room to sign the restatement, Julian won't be the only one who ends up in a cage."
