Chapter 3: The Secret Beneath the Floor
Julian tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled wheeze. "This is a glitch! A hack! Eleanor, you old witch, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything, Julian," Eleanor replied, her voice smooth. "I simply provided the authorities with the GPS coordinates of your 'private archive' at your retreat in the Adirondacks. Did you really think you could hide the ledgers of your shell companies beneath the floorboards of a wildlife preserve?"
The blood drained from Julian’s head. His knees buckled.
The secret was gone. The hard drives, the physical ledger, the evidence of the environmental crimes and the tax evasion—all of it was being pulled from the secret compartment beneath the master bedroom of his getaway house as they spoke. He had stored everything there, believing it was the one place the government would never look because it was "protected land."
"You... you broke into my property?" Julian stammered, his voice cracking.
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"The FBI has a search warrant, Julian," Eleanor said, glancing at her watch. "And they have been digging under your private hangar at the Teterboro airport, too. They found the offshore server farm. Everything you’ve done—every lie, every stolen dollar—it’s all in the custody of the United States government."
The guests were whispering now. The cameras were flashing. Julian Thorne, the man who owned Manhattan, was being unmade in front of the entire world.
