Chapter 8 - The Trap Springs
By noon the following day, the corporate headquarters of Hartwell Global was buzzing with nervous energy.
Harold Ashford sat in his lavish CFO suite on the forty-fourth floor, frantically packing confidential flash drives and foreign passports into an aluminum briefcase. His hands were shaking violently as he watched news updates on his desktop monitor.
"Damn it... damn it!" Harold cursed under his breath, snapping the briefcase shut.
He grabbed his coat and hurried toward his private executive elevator. But as the silver doors slid open, he froze in his tracks.
Standing inside the elevator were Eleanor, Mason, Julian, and four uniformed officers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Going somewhere, Uncle Harold?" Eleanor asked coldly, stepping out of the elevator.
Harold took a step back, his face turning paper-white. "E-Eleanor... Mason... what is the meaning of this? I was just heading out for a private lunch!"
Julian stepped forward, holding up a certified digital warrant. "Mr. Ashford, fifteen minutes ago, federal agents seized your secret bank accounts in Zurich. We recovered thirty-seven million dollars of stolen Hartwell funds, along with your encrypted emails detailing the plan to bankrupt Eleanor."
Harold dropped his aluminum briefcase onto the carpeted floor. He looked at Eleanor, his face twisting into a mask of bitter, desperate venom.
"Your father built this empire on my sweat, Eleanor!" Harold spat out, his voice turning raspy and pathetic. "I deserved half of this company! Preston was a weak fool, but he was useful enough to give my daughter access to your trust!"
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"My father trusted you, Harold," Eleanor said, her voice echoing through the silent corridor. "And you traded twenty years of loyalty for greed. You and your daughter will spend the rest of your lives in a federal penitentiary."
The FBI officers stepped forward, clicking handcuffs around Harold's wrists before dragging him away.
