“Officer! Please! It was Carter! Carter told me Aunt Eleanor was going to disinherit us! Carter told me the Maybach had a mechanical defect! I didn’t touch the brake lines! I swear to Almighty God on my mother’s grave, I was just handling the marketing!”
Marcus Vance looked down at Nick with an expression of such cold, absolute, un-diluted disgust that the younger man recoiled as if he had been struck with an iron rod:
“Nick Sterling,” Marcus whispered softly:
“Your aunt Eleanor didn’t die on Route Six.”
“She was stabilized at Saint Anthony’s hospital sixty minutes ago.”
“She has already provided three hours of continuous, recorded deposition testimony to the United States Attorney.”
Marcus pointed his finger at me:
“And her first official executive decree as the primary beneficial trustee of the Vance-Sterling Sovereign Trust…”
Marcus Vance reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an unsealed, certified Emergency Board Resolution and Statutory Receivership Order, and dropped it flat onto Nick’s forehead:
