Chapter 3 - The Night the Phone Rang
By 9:00 PM that evening, the storm had moved over Queens, bringing heavy, rhythmic rain that drummed against the massive glass windows of Prescott Holdings’ executive suite.
The fortieth floor was not empty.
While the Miller family had been escorted out hours earlier, the lights were burning bright in every corner of the legal, accounting, and human resources departments. Over thirty senior managers, forensic accountants, and corporate lawyers were working in intense, focused silence, sifting through five years of fraudulent invoices, altered vendor approvals, and rigged bidding processes.
I sat at the head of the long mahogany table in my father’s private office, a mountain of paper spread out before me. My suit jacket was draped over the back of my leather chair, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows.
My father sat across from me, sipping black tea, reviewing a summary report prepared by the lead forensic investigator.
"It's worse than we thought," my father said, setting his teacup down with a light rattle. "Anthony didn't just inflate procurement contracts. He used our corporate credit rating to secure twenty-two million dollars in private loans for his family's real estate ventures in Florida."
I didn't look up from the ledger I was auditing. "Those loans were co-signed using a forged signature of our Chief Financial Officer."
"Precisely," my father said, his jaw tightening. "If we hadn't stopped him today, those loans would have defaulted in ninety days, triggering a cross-default clause that would have forced Prescott Holdings into involuntary Chapter 11 bankruptcy."
I paused, my pen hovering over the red ink line on the paper. I felt a sudden, cold shudder run down my spine.
He hadn't just been stealing. He had been planning a total, systematic execution of my family's legacy—leaving us bankrupt, disgraced, and ruined while he fled to the Cayman Islands with Christina.
Before I could speak, the landline phone on my father's desk rang.
The sharp, sudden chime startled the room.
My father looked at the caller ID display. His eyebrows knit together in confusion. "It's the main security desk downstairs."
He pressed the speakerphone button. "Prescott."
"Mr. Prescott," the security supervisor’s voice came through, sounding strained and deeply uncomfortable. "I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, sir, but... we have a situation in the lobby."
"What kind of situation?" my father asked.
"It's Catherine Miller, sir. Anthony's mother."
I looked up instantly, setting my pen down. "Is she with the police?"
"No, Miss Eleanor," the guard replied. "She's alone. She tried to use her executive keycard at the front glass doors, but when it didn't work, she... well, she refused to leave. She's standing out in the rain on the plaza steps. She's screaming for you, Miss Eleanor. She's causing quite a scene. The building management wants to know if we should have the NYPD remove her."
I looked over at the floor-to-ceiling windows. Forty stories below, the Plaza was a vast expanse of wet, gleaming granite illuminated by streetlights.
I stood up, pulling my suit jacket back over my shoulders.
"Eleanor," my father warned, reaching out a hand. "You don't need to speak to that woman. Let the police handle her."
"No, Dad," I said, buttoning my jacket and looking at my reflection in the dark window. "She spent five years coming into my home, eating my food, and telling me how lucky I was to have her son. I want to hear what she has to say when she has nothing left to hide behind."
Five minutes later, the private elevator doors opened into the grand ground-floor lobby.
The glass walls of the building offered a clear view of the downpour outside. Standing directly under the glowing yellow lights of the entrance canopy—soaked to the bone, her expensive hair ruined, her makeup running in dark streaks down her face—was Catherine Miller.
She wasn't the polished, proud woman who had sat in my boardroom hours earlier. She looked small, desperate, and completely broken. She was beating her fists against the heavy glass doors, her voice muffled by the thick double-paned security glass.
"Eleanor! Eleanor, please! Open the door!"
I signaled to Leonard, who stood near the security desk. "Open the door, Leonard. But keep two guards behind me."
Leonard nodded, pressing the security release.
The heavy glass door unlocked with a deep, pneumatic hiss, sliding open to let in the cold, wet air and the roaring sound of the rain.
Catherine almost fell through the door, staggering onto the polished marble floor. She looked up, saw me standing ten feet away in my immaculate suit, and let out a strange, choked sob.
"Eleanor!" she wailed, rushing forward, her wet heels slipping slightly on the marble.
Leonard stepped into her path, placing a thick, gloved hand against her shoulder, stopping her six feet away from me.
"Eleanor, you have to help him!" Catherine pleaded, her voice hysterical, her hands clutching at her wet coat. "They took Anthony! They pulled him out of his apartment in handcuffs! They took Christina too! He's in the federal holding facility downtown! They won't let me see him!"
I stood completely still, my hands folded calmly in front of me. "He was arrested on federal wire fraud and grand larceny charges, Catherine. That's what happens when you steal twenty million dollars from a corporation."
"It was a mistake!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the rain. "He was confused! That girl—that Christina—she seduced him! She made him do it! Anthony loves you, Eleanor! He told me just last week how much he respects you! He was going to come back to you!"
A bitter, quiet laugh escaped my lips.
"Catherine," I said, my voice cutting through her hysterical shrieks. "Do you really think I'm still the naive girl who begged her father to give your son a job five years ago?"
Catherine dropped to her knees right there on the wet marble floor of the lobby. The proud, arrogant matriarch who had tried to take over my father's empire was kneeling at my feet, weeping hysterically, her designer handbag soaked, her pearls hanging crookedly around her neck.
"Please, Eleanor!" she begged, holding her hands up in a desperate prayer. "Withdraw the criminal complaint! We'll give everything back! We'll give back the cars, the house in Florida, the jewelry! Samuel will leave the state! Susan will resign! Just don't send my boy to federal prison! He won't survive in there! You know how delicate he is!"
I looked down at her.
For five years, I had bent over backward to win this woman's approval. I had hosted her family dinners, bought her luxury holidays, paid for her daughter's wedding, and overlooked her subtle, toxic jabs about my appearance, my family, and my inability to give her a grandchild. I had compromised my dignity every single day to be the 'good wife' and the 'good daughter-in-law.'
And now, here she was, asking me to save the man who had tried to destroy me.
"He isn't delicate, Catherine," I said softly, leaning down slightly so she could hear every single word over the sound of the rain. "He is a predator. But he was sloppy. And you were greedy."
"Eleanor... please..." she sobbed, reaching for the hem of my trousers.
I stepped back, completely out of her reach.
"The board meeting is scheduled for 8:00 AM tomorrow," I told her coldly. "By noon, every asset connected to the Miller family will be attached by federal marshals. If you have any money left in your personal account, Catherine, I suggest you use it to hire a very good defense attorney for yourself. Because when the federal prosecutors finish with Anthony... they're coming for the rest of you."
I turned my back on her and walked toward the private elevator.
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"You monster!" Catherine shrieked behind me, her voice echoing through the vast, empty lobby. "You heartless, arrogant monster! My son made you! Without him, you were nothing!"
The elevator doors closed smoothly, cutting off her voice, leaving me in total, glorious silence as the car ascended back into the sky.
