Julian Croft was a small man, meticulously dressed in a rumpled navy suit, now visibly sweating under the pavilion lights. Officer Reed had located him trying to slip out a side door near the kitchens, looking like a panicked mouse.
He was brought, not gently, to the center of the hall, where reporters swarmed like hungry sharks. Their cameras clicked and whirred, capturing every bead of sweat on his forehead.
“Mr. Croft,” I began, my voice clear and controlled, “can you explain why the State Historic Venues Trust records show this pavilion as a protected public space, while your appraisal documents re-zone it as a commercial rental property?”
His eyes darted nervously between me, the marshals, and Richard, who stood frozen at the edge of the crowd.
“It was… an oversight,” Croft stammered, fumbling with his tie. “A clerical error, perhaps.”
“A clerical error that allowed a private PAC to hijack a gala meant for civic engagement?” I pressed, stepping closer. “And to do so on the day of the event, no less?”
“I… I can re-submit the paperwork,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible above the whispers of the crowd. “It can be corrected.”
“We’re not talking about a typo, Mr. Croft,” I said, my gaze unwavering. “We’re talking about the illegal re-zoning of public property. A felony, if I recall state statutes correctly.”
He swallowed hard. His panic was palpable, a foul odor in the air.
“And how exactly did Lauren Danforth’s PAC come to acquire this ‘commercially re-zoned’ venue, Mr. Croft?” I pushed. “Did they pay for it? And if so, how much? And through what channels?”
Croft’s composure cracked completely. His eyes widened, fixing on Lauren who stood, pale and furious, watching him unravel.
“It was… it was a donation,” he blurted out, desperation etched on his face. “Through a third party. A series of shell entities.”
The words hung in the air, damning and clear. A shell game. Exactly as I suspected.
“Shell entities? Can you name them, Mr. Croft?” I asked, my pen poised over a notepad.
He shook his head frantically. “I don’t know the names! I just… I just followed instructions! They funneled the money through some… some holding companies. It was all legal, I swear!”
“Legal?” I scoffed. “Re-zoning public property for private gain through untraceable shell companies and falsified documents is hardly ‘legal,’ Mr. Croft. It’s a textbook case of public corruption.”
Richard finally stirred, stepping forward. “Julian, you don’t have to say anything else. You have the right to legal counsel.”
“Too late, Richard,” I said, without taking my eyes off Croft. “He’s already implicated Lauren’s PAC in a pay-for-play scheme.”
Officer Reed moved in, placing a hand on Croft’s arm. “Mr. Croft, we’re going to need you to come down to the station to answer some more questions.”
As they led him away, Julian Croft cast a pathetic, pleading look back at Richard, who turned his face away. It was a cold, telling moment. My ex-husband would sacrifice anyone to save his own skin.
Lauren, though, looked directly at me. Her eyes blazed with a hatred I hadn’t seen since the divorce, when I’d lost everything.
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