Chapter 4 - The Public Fall
Within three days, the downfall of the Cross family became the most prominent scandal in the country's financial history.
Every major news outlet carried front-page stories detailing the spectacular collapse of Cross Logistics. Television networks broadcasted live footage of the asset recovery teams carrying imported Italian furniture out of the Cross mansion. The public, who had long grown tired of Damian’s arrogant social media posts boasting about his "self-made billionaire lifestyle," watched with absolute delight as the truth was laid bare.
Damian was forced to appear before an emergency meeting of the company’s remaining board of directors in a small, rented office space downtown—the luxury corporate headquarters had already been shuttered due to non-payment of rent.
He sat at the end of the table, his eyes hollow, his face covered in a thick layer of dark stubble. The remaining board members, men who used to treat him like a corporate god, were now looking at him with deep, professional disgust.
"You ruined us, Damian," one of the senior board members hissed, slamming a stack of legal filings onto the table. "You used our corporate shares as collateral for personal loans to buy your mistress a penthouse! And worst of all, you managed to offend the Montrose family! Do you have any idea what they are doing to us? They’ve blacklisted our shipping vessels from every port on the eastern seaboard!"
"I can fix it," Damian stammered, his voice hoarse. "I just need to talk to Isabella. She’s my wife. She still loves me deep down. If I can just get her alone—"
The door to the boardroom opened, and Arthur Montrose’s head legal counsel walked in, followed by two police detectives.
"Mr. Cross," the lawyer said, placing a thick leather folder on the table. "We are here to serve the final divorce decree. Ms. Montrose has requested a total dissolution of the marriage based on extreme physical and emotional cruelty. Furthermore, the District Attorney’s office has officially approved charges against you for corporate embezzlement and bank fraud regarding the false asset declarations you signed last winter."
Damian felt the final remnants of his strength leave his body. He fell back into his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Bank fraud... that carries a ten-year sentence..."
"Minimum," the detective said, stepping forward and pulling out a pair of steel handcuffs. "Damian Cross, you are under arrest. Please stand up and place your hands behind your back."
As the detectives led Damian out of the building in handcuffs, a crowd of reporters and photographers swarmed the entryway, the flashing lights blinding him as he hung his head in absolute shame.
Meanwhile, in a dilapidated two-bedroom apartment on the edge of the city—the only place they could afford with the small amount of cash Evelyn had left in her personal safe—Evelyn Cross sat on a cheap vinyl sofa, staring at the peeling wallpaper.
Her expensive designer clothes were packed into standard cardboard boxes piled against the wall. The phone rang constantly—not from her elite society friends offering support, but from debt collectors demanding the return of her luxury jewelry and fur coats, which had been purchased using lines of credit tied to Damian’s failed firm.
Vanessa Hale stood by the window, smoking a cigarette, her face completely devoid of its usual glamour. "The police called my lawyer today, Evelyn. They’re charging me as an accessory to the fraud because I accepted the penthouse deed from Damian knowing the corporate accounts were compromised. I’m going to prison. We’re all going to prison."
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Evelyn didn't answer. She simply reached out and picked up an old, faded magazine showing a photograph of the Montrose family at a global charity gala years ago. In the center of the photo stood a young Isabella, smiling radiantly beside her father, surrounded by international royalty.
"We had the queen of the world living in our house," Evelyn whispered, a single tear of pure, bitter regret sliding down her wrinkled cheek. "And we treated her like a servant."
