Chapter 5 - Legal Crosshairs
The legal battle moved with terrifying speed. Harrison Vance, a silver-haired shark of an attorney with a Manhattan firm, wasted no time dismantling Elaine’s defenses.
By the end of the first week, Vance’s forensic accountants had tracked every single dollar of the diverted trust fund. Not only had Mom drained my primary inheritance, but she had also used a portion of it to buy speculative real estate in Florida under Madison’s name—an obvious attempt to shelter stolen assets.
Madison, meanwhile, was entirely unravelling.
Her credit cards were frozen under the court injunction. Her luxury apartment lease in Boston—which my parents had been subsidizing—was abruptly thrown into jeopardy when the rental agency was notified that the funds were tied to fraudulent accounts.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon, my phone rang. It was Madison.
I stared at the screen, watching her name flash, before swiping to answer.
"Lauren! You have to help me!" Madison's voice shrieked through the speaker, hysterical and panicked.
"Help you with what, Madison?" I asked calmly, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
"My bank cards are locked! The leasing office just told me my rent check bounced, and my car insurance payment didn't go through! The police—well, not the police, but some investigator—came by my apartment asking questions about my bank accounts! Mom isn't answering her phone, and Dad has gone completely ghost! What is happening?!"
"What's happening is that accountability has finally arrived," I said evenly.
"Accountability?!" she sobbed. "Are you out of your mind?! You're destroying our family over money! You already bought a Manhattan apartment! You're successful! Why do you care about a stupid trust fund? Just drop the lawsuit and let us fix this!"
"Fix this?" I scoffed, a cold laugh escaping my lips. "Madison, that wasn't 'family money.' That was my money. Money my grandfather left for me, which Mom stole and spent on your designer bags, your private schools, your cars, and your entire effortless lifestyle while I worked fifty hours a week just to pay for my own textbooks!"
"Well, I didn't know!" she screamed defensively. "I was just a kid! It’s not my fault Mom gave it to me!"
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"No, it's not your fault you were spoiled," I replied sharply. "But it is your fault that you looked at my hard-earned apartment and screamed, 'Why does she get that and I don't?' without a single ounce of shame or self-awareness. Enjoy the real world, Madison. It's time you learned what a price tag actually feels like."
I hung up the phone and blocked her number.
