Chapter 7 - The Arrest on the Plaza
The corporate plaza outside the Sterling Innovations headquarters was filled with sunlight at 2:00 PM. Hundreds of employees were scattered around the modern concrete benches, enjoying their lunch breaks near the reflecting pools. It was a picture of serene, high-tech prosperity.
But the peace was shattered when a black town car pulled up to the curb, accompanied by two white Mountain View Police Department cruisers, their blue and red lights flashing silently against the glass facade of the tower.
Preston Thorne was standing near the edge of the plaza. He had spent the last twenty-four hours trying to access his offshore accounts, only to find that Martin Vance had successfully filed an emergency international asset freeze with the federal courts. He was wearing the same wrinkled shirt from the night before, his face haggard, his eyes scanning the building like a desperate animal looking for a hole in the fence.
I walked out of the main lobby doors, standing at the top of the broad concrete steps, flanked by Martin and Sarah Jenkins.
The two police detectives stepped onto the plaza, walking directly toward Preston.
"Preston Thorne?" the lead detective asked, pulling a set of steel handcuffs from his utility belt.
"Yes?" Preston stammered, stepping back, his heels hitting the edge of a concrete planter. "What is this? This is a civil dispute! My wife is trying to ruin my reputation!"
"You are under arrest for felony corporate embezzlement, grand larceny, and grand theft of intellectual property under California Penal Code Section 503," the detective said, his voice carrying across the quiet plaza.
The employees on the benches stood up, their phones immediately rising to record the historic downfall of the man who had tried to steal their company.
Preston’s arms were forced behind his back, the sharp, metallic click of the handcuffs echoing off the glass tower. As he was led toward the police cruiser, he looked up at the steps. He looked at me, standing there in my navy power suit, looking down at him with the absolute, unyielding authority of the Sterling family name.
"Vivian!" he screamed, his voice cracking with a pathetic, desperate terror as the crowd watched. "Vivian, please! Talk to them! I can return the money! I can fix this! We’re family, Vivian!"
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"We were never family, Preston," I said softly, though the wind carried my words away before they could reach his ears. "You were just a bad employee who forgot who signed the checks."
The car door slammed shut on his cries, the police cruisers pulling away from the curb, leaving the plaza in a state of quiet, reverent awe.
