Chapter 4 - The Dissolution of Tessa Brightwell
While Garrett Sullivan sat in a county jail cell awaiting his formal arraignment, his former bride-to-be was discovering that the high-society world she had sacrificed her integrity to enter was entirely unforgiving of public failure.
At ten o'clock the following morning, Tessa Brightwell sat in the plush leather armchair of her high-end interior design studio in Soho.
The studio—which had been fully funded by Garrett using sixty thousand dollars stolen from Hartwell Logic’s operating accounts—was in absolute chaos. Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, three news crews were parked along the sidewalk, cameras aimed directly at her front door.
Tessa’s hands shook violently as she poured vodka into her morning coffee.
Her phone had been ringing continuously for three hours. Her elite clientele—wealthy Manhattan socialites who had paid six-figure retainers for her design services—were canceling their contracts one by one.
The door to her private office swung open, and two uniformed officers from the New York City Police Department stepped inside, accompanied by a female investigator from the District Attorney’s office.
Tessa jumped up from her chair, spilling her spiked coffee onto her white silk blouse. "What is this?! You can't just walk into my private office!"
"Tessa Brightwell?" the female investigator asked, pulling a crisp warrant from her jacket. "I am Investigator Miller with the New York County District Attorney's Financial Crimes Unit. We have an arrest warrant for your involvement in notarization forgery, grand larceny, and corporate conspiracy in relation to the Hartwell Logic entity."
"Forgery?!" Tessa shrieked, backing toward the window. "I didn't forge anything! Garrett told me where to sign! I was just his assistant back then! I didn't know what the document was!"
"You signed as a licensed New York State Notary Public, Ms. Brightwell," Investigator Miller replied coldly. "A notary public takes an oath under penalty of felony perjury that the signer appeared in person and proved their identity. Rebecca Vance was in the hospital delivering her twins on the exact date and time stamped on that document."
Tessa froze. Her face turned a horrific shade of purple.
"Furthermore," Miller added, motioning for the uniformed officers to move forward, "Mr. Sullivan’s legal team submitted a proffer statement two hours ago claiming you personally suggested the forgery in exchange for a twenty-percent equity kickback in his secondary holding company."
"He lied!" Tessa screamed, flailing her arms as the officers grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her back. "That sniveling coward lied! He was the one who came up with the idea! He hated her! He wanted to leave her with nothing!"
"You can explain that to the grand jury, Ms. Brightwell," the officer said, snapping the heavy steel handcuffs over her wrists.
As Tessa was led out through the glass doors of her Soho studio, the news cameras flashed incessantly. Reporters shoved microphones toward her face, shouting questions into the morning air:
"Tessa! Did you help steal a billion dollars from your best friend?!"
"Are you facing federal prison time?!"
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"Was the wedding just a cover for corporate fraud?!"
Tessa ducked her head, sobbing hysterically as her expensive white wedding shoes stumbled over the curb into the back of a police wagon—a brutal, public ruin for the woman who had spent four years believing she had won.
