Chapter 3 - The Gathering of Receipts
By 7:00 PM, the storm outside had choked off all outbound traffic from Bozeman, leaving the city wrapped in an eerie, muffled stillness.
Candace sat across from Gloria in a private, high-backed booth at *The Copper Pint*, an old-timbered tavern near the rail depot where off-duty attorneys and senior detectives drank when they didn't want to be overheard.
Gloria had five colored highlighters spread across the scarred oak table, surrounded by three inches of bank records, land titles, and printed screenshots.
"It’s not just civil fraud," Gloria said, viciously circling a line of numbers in neon green. "It’s wire fraud. Brooke filed a state business assistance grant during the tail-end of the pandemic claiming Perry Real Estate Holdings had three full-time employees. She used your recurring monthly deposits as proof of operating revenue."
Candace took a slow sip of hot tea with lemon. "Can she go to prison for that?"
"If the United States Attorney gets a look at this ledger? She’d be facing twenty-four months minimum," Gloria said, tossing the highlighter down with an angry clatter. "Your parents were co-conspirators, Candy. Nancy signed the verification affidavit as the 'Chief Financial Officer.' The whole thing was a grift. They weren't just taking your money because they were lazy. They were using you as the legal bedrock for Brooke’s paper kingdom."
Candace looked out the leaded glass window at the snow drifting against the lampposts.
"All those years," Candace said softly. "Every time I asked why Brooke didn't contribute, Mom said Brooke was an artist. That she had a sensitive spirit that couldn't handle the harshness of the world like I could."
"Brooke is an apex parasite," Gloria corrected without hesitation. "And Nancy is the host who feeds her. But here’s the problem, Candy: Brooke’s video currently has two hundred thousand views. Some regional news aggregator picked it up. If we just file a quiet lawsuit, it will take eighteen months to wind through district court, and by then your professional reputation will be stained by the association."
"What do you suggest?"
"A press conference," Gloria said firmly. "Tomorrow morning. On the courthouse steps. We release the certified property deed showing the house is paid off, the bank statements proving the money went to Brooke's shell LLC, and the audio recording of Gerald threatening you this morning."
Before Candace could answer, the bell above the tavern’s heavy oak door chimed.
The ambient chatter in the tavern didn't stop, but it dropped half an octave—a subtle, collective dip in volume that always accompanied the arrival of a predator.
Sha Moretti stepped through the doorway.
He had abandoned the suit for dark selvedge denim, heavy leather boots, and a shearling-lined black coat that bore a dusting of snow on the shoulders. He looked less like an underworld phantom tonight and more like what he fundamentally was: an old-money Montana dynast whose family had owned timber mills and copper veins before the territory had even become a state.
He caught Candace’s eye, didn't smile, and walked directly toward their booth.
Gloria stiffened instantly, her attorney’s instinct flaring. "What is he doing here?"
"I don't know," Candace said honestly.
Sha stopped at the end of the table. He looked at Gloria first. "Counselor Vance."
Gloria narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Moretti. I don't recall inviting you to a privileged attorney-client strategy session."
"You didn't," Sha replied smoothly. He pulled a wooden chair from an adjacent empty table, reversed it, and sat down with effortless grace, resting his forearms against the backrest. "But given that your client's sister has just scheduled an exclusive on-camera interview with Channel 8 News for tomorrow at noon, I thought you might appreciate an update on the field."
Candace sat bolt upright. "Channel 8? They’re giving her airtime?"
"Brooke pitched it as a holiday human-interest piece," Sha said, his tone dry as tinder. "'The Dark Side of Healthcare: An Abandoned Family Speaks Out.' They’re filming it live at the Perry residence on Aspen Grove. Brooke arranged for Nancy to sit in a borrowed wheelchair."
Gloria let out a short, incredulous laugh. "A wheelchair? Nancy was doing water aerobics at the YMCA on Wednesday!"
"Truth rarely matters to mid-day local programming until someone forces them to acknowledge it," Sha said. His eyes drifted to Candace, holding her still. "The news director at Channel 8, Dan Miller, owes three favors to a concrete supply company I own. If you want the segment killed, it dies right now. One phone call."
Candace looked at him. The power was intoxicating, clean, and terrifyingly easy. With one sentence, she could make Brooke’s circus vanish into thin air.
She would never have to hear her mother’s voice on television.
She could go back to the hospital, keep her head down, and let the storm blow over.
"No," Candace said.
Gloria turned to her, surprised. "Candy?"
Candace looked from Gloria to Sha.
"If you kill the story, Sha, it just festers," she said, her voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying calm. "Brooke will post another video claiming Moretti money silenced her on my behalf. People will say where there’s smoke, there’s fire. She’ll spend the next ten years dining out on being the tragic sister of the tyrannical Dr. Perry."
A slow, wolfish smile spread across Sha Moretti’s lips. It was the first time Candace had seen him look genuinely delighted.
"Go on," Sha said softly.
"You said they’re broadcasting live at noon?" Candace asked.
"Twelve-fifteen," Sha corrected. "The noon broadcast usually runs regional updates first, then cuts to the live remote."
"Good," Candace said. She looked at Gloria’s highlighters. "Gloria, how long does it take to print three certified copies of Brooke’s LLC filings, the county property deed, the bank wire receipts, and Gerald’s arrest records from his 2018 DUI?"
Gloria’s eyes lit up with predatory professional glee. "Twenty minutes."
May you like
"Make it four copies," Candace said. "I’m going to my parents’ house for lunch tomorrow."
***
