Chapter 8 - The Desperate Blackmail Attempt
By Friday evening, Kenneth Vance was a cornered rat.
His firm’s assets were officially frozen by the state tax commissioner. The local bank had initiated foreclosure proceedings on their six-thousand-square-foot estate due to default on the balloon mortgage Kenneth had quietly taken out to fund Courtney’s lavish lifestyle. Every social, political, and financial bridge he had spent forty years building had been torched to ash.
Sitting in his dark study, Kenneth opened a floor safe hidden behind a mahogany bookshelf.
Inside was a thin, yellowed legal document: the original deed and trust allocation for the Vance Family Memorial Estate—a small parcel of lakefront property left behind by Kenneth’s father decades ago. According to the original trust clause, Emily was entitled to a twenty-five percent beneficiary payout upon reaching thirty years of age—a payout Kenneth had illegally withheld and funneled into Courtney’s private accounts five years earlier.
A twisted, malicious grin spread across Kenneth’s exhausted face.
"She wants money," Kenneth whispered to himself, his voice raspy and cracked. "Everyone wants money. Marcus is an enlisted soldier; he doesn't make real money. If I offer her the property payout in exchange for signing an affidavit of non-cooperation with the district attorney... she’ll take it. She has to take it."
Kenneth picked up a burner phone he had purchased at a convenience store two miles away, dialed Emily’s number, and pressed send.
In the apartment across town, the phone rang.
Emily glanced at the unfamiliar number, then looked at Marcus, who was sitting across the kitchen counter cleaning his service sidearm. Marcus gave her a single, firm nod and tapped the recording app on his laptop.
Emily answered and put the phone on speaker. "Hello?"
"Emily," Kenneth’s voice came through the speaker, sounding entirely different from the booming patriarch of old. It was oily, frantic, and desperate. "It’s your father."
Emily’s grip on the counter tightened, but her voice remained as smooth as polished ice. "You are violating a criminal protective order, Kenneth. This call is being recorded."
"Wait! Don't hang up!" Kenneth pleaded quickly. "Listen to me for sixty seconds, Emily. Just sixty seconds, for God’s sake! I know we’ve had our differences. I know Courtney... Courtney lost her temper. But family is family. We can fix this."
"Courtney broke my daughter’s face with a brass-cornered bag, Kenneth," Emily said, her tone devoid of emotion. "You stepped over your bleeding grandchild. There is nothing to fix."
"I have your trust fund, Emily!" Kenneth blurted out, his voice cracking with desperation. "Your grandfather left you three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in the lakefront trust! I have the paperwork right here in front of me! I will sign it over to you tomorrow morning. Every single penny. Cash in your account by noon. You can buy a house! You can send Sadie to any private school in the state!"
Emily closed her eyes, a bitter, cold smile touching her lips. "And what do you want in exchange, Kenneth?"
"All you have to do is sign a sworn affidavit stating that Courtney did not use a weapon," Kenneth whispered frantically. "State that Sadie tripped on the patio pavers, and Courtney merely dropped her bag during the confusion. The DA will have to drop the felony enhancements! Courtney will get probation, Bentley will come home, and our family can heal! Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Emily! Think about your daughter’s future!"
Emily opened her eyes. She looked at Marcus, whose jaw was set like iron.
"Kenneth," Emily said quietly into the receiver.
"Yes? Yes, sweetheart?" Kenneth breathed, hope surging in his chest like poison.
"I didn't need your trust fund to give Sadie a future," Emily said, her voice dropping into a register of absolute, ruthless finality. "And three days ago, our attorney subpoenaed your offshore banking records. We already know you embezzled my grandfather’s trust fund back in 2019 to pay off Courtney’s credit card debt."
Dead silence fell over the line. Kenneth stopped breathing.
"This phone call," Emily continued, "was recorded on a federal line under the supervision of the Assistant District Attorney. You didn't just violate a protective order, Kenneth. You just committed felony bribery of a state witness."
"Emily... no... wait—"
"Goodbye, Kenneth. See you in court."
Emily tapped the red button, ending the call.
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Twenty minutes later, two squad cars from the County Sheriff’s Department pulled into the Vance driveway with their sirens wailing. Kenneth Vance was marched out of his front door in handcuffs, dressed in his rumpled silk bathrobe, as Diane watched from the upstairs window, screaming into the empty night.
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