Chapter 4 - THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK
By sunrise, Blackthorn Manor looked less like a home and more like a command center.
Federal investigators occupied the library.
Financial specialists worked from the dining room.
Vale Dominion analysts transformed Nathan’s private office into a temporary intelligence station.
And Nathan himself had been transferred downtown for processing.
He was not charged with everything yet.
That required evidence.
Evidence Martin Crane was apparently trying to destroy.
I was taken to a private hospital wing shortly after five in the morning.
My father remained beside me until the doctors finished documenting my injuries.
Every photograph became evidence.
Every statement became part of the case.
By eight, Nathan’s attorneys had already begun their counterattack.
Television screens throughout the hospital displayed the same headline.
ASHFORD GLOBAL CEO DETAINED DURING DOMESTIC DISPUTE.
Not fraud.
Not money laundering.
Not federal warrants.
A domestic dispute.
Nathan’s lawyers claimed my father had abused his influence to manufacture a criminal investigation because of a troubled marriage.
Then came the second headline.
ASHFORD WIFE SUFFERED HISTORY OF EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY, SOURCES CLAIM.
I almost laughed.
Nathan had prepared this years ago.
Canceled appointments had become “psychiatric concerns.”
Private arguments had become “violent episodes.”
The fall down the staircase was described as an accident caused by my instability.
Even Celeste was portrayed as a loyal executive who had repeatedly tried to help me.
“They’re building a narrative,” I said.
Dad stood beside the window.
“They’re trying.”
My phone vibrated.
An old college friend had sent me a link.
Then another.
Then dozens arrived.
Anonymous social media accounts were posting photographs of me leaving medical clinics.
Several pictures had been edited to make me appear intoxicated.
Nathan was poisoning the public before prosecutors could present evidence.
I looked toward my father.
“Don’t shut it down.”
He frowned.
“Excuse me?”
“Let them talk.”
“They’re defaming you.”
“And every lie becomes evidence of obstruction if we can prove Nathan coordinated it.”
Dad studied me for a moment.
Then slowly nodded.
There was a knock.
One of his analysts entered.
“We located Martin Crane’s vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Airport parking garage.”
My heart accelerated.
“He fled?”
“No.”
The analyst placed photographs on the table.
The vehicle was empty.
The driver’s door was open.
Bloodless scratches marked the concrete beside it.
Martin’s phone had been found underneath the car.
His passport remained inside the glove compartment.
Dad looked at the analyst.
“Security footage?”
“Deleted.”
“Any witnesses?”
“One.”
“Who?”
“A parking attendant.”
The analyst hesitated.
“He says two men forced Crane into a black SUV approximately forty minutes before the warehouse fire.”
I stared at him.
Nathan had always described Martin as family.
His best friend.
His most trusted executive.
Yet somebody had taken him before the evidence began disappearing.
“Do you think Nathan ordered it?” I asked.
Dad looked toward the television.
May you like
Nathan’s smiling corporate photograph filled the screen.
“I think your husband built an organization he no longer completely controls.”
