Chapter 3 - The Paper Trail of Deceit
Mr. Vance reached into the briefcase and pulled out the second folder—this one a dull, institutional red.
He didn't hand it to my father. He opened it in front of me.
"Blackbriar Management LLC," Vance explained calmly, turning the pages so I could read the crisp black lines of corporate filings, bank routing numbers, and signature cards. "Registered in Delaware. Beneficial owner: George Cross. Secondary signatory on the account: Belle Cross-Miller."
My eyes snapped from the paper to my sister.
Belle was trembling so violently that her fork slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against her plate. She wouldn't look at me. She stared fixedly at a gold-trimmed cranberry dish, her lip quivering.
"Belle?" I choked out. "You knew? You took money from this?"
"She didn't know anything, Zaden, leave her out of it!" Logan snarled, leaning across the table toward me. His face was flushed, the veneer of the charming country-club son-in-law completely vanished. "We have a family to run. We have investments. Your father handled the logistics. We just accepted dividend disbursements from family trusts—"
"Dividend disbursements?" Grandma Evelyn echoed, cutting Logan off with an icy glare that made him shrink back into his chair. "Is that what you call seven thousand dollars a month collected from the elderly couple living in my grandson’s home?"
Grandma took a step forward, leaning over the back of my empty chair. Her fingers, gnarled by mild arthritis but still wearing her late husband’s thick platinum wedding band, tapped the red folder.
"Seven thousand dollars a month for thirty-six months, Logan," she continued. "That is two hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars. And according to the bank statements Robert obtained through forensic discovery two days ago, exactly fifty percent of every wire transfer went straight into your commercial real estate firm to cover your margin loans."
Logan went rigid. His jaw worked silently, but no sound came out.
"You bought a Porsche Cayenne last winter, Logan," Grandma said softly. "I remember you brought it to my house on Christmas Eve to show it off. You told me business was booming. You told me the market had never been kinder to you."
"Grandma, please," Belle sobbed, finally breaking down. She buried her face in her napkins. "Dad said Zaden didn't want the responsibility. Dad said Zaden was living off the grid with some commune, that he’d sell the house for drug money if we gave it to him!"
"Drug money?" The breath left my lungs in an agonizing heave. "I don't even drink, Belle! You know I don't touch drugs! I was working graveyard shifts at an Amazon fulfillment center just to pay for insulin when my deductible reset!"
"They told me you were sick, Zaden!" Belle wept, looking up now, her mascara smeared down her cheeks. "They said you were in an inpatient clinic in Oregon! Dad had medical bills he showed me—"
"Forged," Mr. Vance interrupted smoothly. He produced a thin sheaf of letterheads bearing the emblem of an Oregon wellness institute. "We contacted the medical director at Cascade Recovery on Tuesday. These invoices were manufactured on an home desktop printer using an inactive tax ID number."
Vance turned his gaze back to my father.
"George, you didn't just steal the house. You systematically poisoned this family’s perception of your son so that none of them would ever reach out to verify his whereabouts. You told his grandmother he was wandering through South America. You told his sister he was an addict in rehab. And you told him he was utterly worthless."
Dad’s chest heaved. He looked around the dining room, looking for an exit, looking for an ally. But Mom was curled inward, weeping into her hands, Belle was shaking with silent hysteria, and Logan was staring at the floor, already calculating how to hire a criminal defense lawyer.
"You can't prosecute me," Dad whispered, his voice turning raspy and venomous. "The statute of limitations on the notary issue—"
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"Is seven years in the state of Georgia for grand larceny and wire fraud involving real estate," Vance stated without blinking. "And I haven't even told you who the tenants are yet."
***
