Chapter 4 - The Depositions and the Debt
Two weeks later, the civil and criminal proceedings moved into high gear.
Because Lantern House’s production crew had captured the entire assault in 4K high-definition, and because Rafi had preserved the chemical sample, the District Attorney’s office didn’t even need a grand jury deliberation to secure a formal indictment.
Kendall Vance was formally charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, reckless endangerment, and criminal conspiracy. Denied bail due to her status as a flight risk—having already booked a one-way ticket to Mexico following the police raid—she sat in the Essex County Correctional Facility awaiting trial.
Meanwhile, the financial fallout of Ever After Media hit with the force of an economic tsunami.
I sat in my Boston office for the first time since the attack, the scar on my left cheek healing into a pale, thin silver line that would fade with time, but never truly disappear.
My phone rang. It was Marcus Sterling, a senior bankruptcy attorney I had retained to handle the financial wreckage of my sister’s company.
“Clara,” Marcus said briskly. “I have good news and fascinating news.”
“Give me the fascinating news first,” I replied, leaning back in my ergonomic desk chair.
“As part of our civil lawsuit against Ever After Media and your mother, we subpoenaed all corporate ledgers,” Marcus explained. “Remember that $90,000 loan you refused to cosign back in the spring?”
“Of course I do. That was the catalyst for all of this.”
“Well, it turns out your sister didn't just lose a sponsor,” Marcus chuckled softly over the line. “She had secretly taken out three high-interest predatory merchant cash advances using forged corporate documents bearing your mother’s signature—and, in two instances, your name as well.”
My eyes widened. “My name?”
“Yes. They committed identity fraud to secure the capital,” Marcus confirmed. “Total liability: $240,000 in immediate, unsecured debt with personal guarantees attached to your mother’s Gloucester home and any remaining company assets.”
I let out a slow, breathy whistle. “So Mom’s house is gone.”
“Unless your mother declares personal bankruptcy and surrenders the property to the creditors within thirty days, yes,” Marcus said. “The house where you grew up, where your father built his workshop, is currently under foreclosure attachment.”
I sat in silence for a moment, looking out the glass window of my Boston office toward the harbor.
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My father had spent forty years plumbing the houses of Gloucester, sweating in crawlspaces, and saving every penny so my mother would have security in her old age. He had left her a house free and clear, a truck with a toolbox, and a warning about dangerous chemicals she had chosen to ignore in favor of chasing social media clout.
“File the lien attachments, Marcus,” I said calmly. “Let the creditors take the house. My mother chose her favorite child. Now she can live in the wreckage.”
