Chapter 8 - The House of Cards Collapses
The drive back to Julian’s leased luxury townhouse in Westlake was filled with screaming so intense that the driver of the airport ride-share they were forced to hire kept his eyes glued straight to the road in terrified silence.
The honeymoon was canceled. Their passports were impounded. Their cards were dead plastic.
The moment they walked through the double mahogany front doors, Vanessa flung her designer bag against the wall, shattering an antique vase. “This is your fault!” she screamed at Julian. “You told me the invoices were completely insulated! You said Brielle was too busy dealing with the supply-chain crisis to audit the vendor accounts!”
Julian tore his tie off, his veins bulging against his neck. “My fault?! You’re the idiot who couldn’t resist pouring wine all over her in front of three hundred people! I begged you to let the wedding go smoothly! I told you to lay low until the quarterly audit window closed!”
“She showed up wearing that dress looking down her nose at me like she always does!” Vanessa spat, tears of rage ruining her makeup. “She thinks she’s better than me just because Dad left her the company!”
“Dad left her the company because she actually knows how to run it!” Julian roared back, slamming his fist onto the kitchen island. “You don't even know how to balance a spreadsheet! And now, thanks to your little PR stunt, the Texas Financial Crimes Unit has copies of the Delaware filings! Do you know what happens to a junior partner when the feds look into altered invoices, Vanessa?! I’m going to prison! I’m going to lose my license!”
Before Vanessa could respond, the heavy brass knocker on the front door hammered three times.
Vanessa froze. “Is that the police?”
Julian’s chest heaved. He walked over, peered through the frosted glass sidelight, and yanked the door open.
It wasn't the police. It was Eleanor.
My mother looked ten years older than she had at the wedding. Her hair was windswept, her designer sunglasses were crooked, and her face was pale with hysteria. She barged into the entryway, clutching a stack of legal mail.
“They froze the estate accounts,” Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling. “The club called. They suspended my membership. The country club, Julian! They rejected my card at lunch in front of the entire tennis committee!”
“Mom, stop whining about your tennis committee!” Vanessa snapped. “The feds took our passports! We’re grounded! Brielle filed a formal criminal complaint!”
Eleanor turned toward Vanessa, her eyes wide with frantic desperation. “You have to talk to her, Vanessa. You have to go to her office, cry, apologize—do whatever it takes. If she doesn’t drop this investigation, the forensic team is going to dig into the 2021 distribution accounts.”
Julian’s head whipped around. “What 2021 distribution accounts? What are you talking about, Eleanor?”
Eleanor swallowed hard, her hand fluttering to her throat. She looked like a woman who had just realized she was standing in the middle of a burning room with no exits left.
“Before your father passed away,” Eleanor murmured, avoiding Julian’s gaze, “he set up a secondary educational and medical contingency trust for Brielle. Three million dollars. It was supposed to revert entirely to her on her thirtieth birthday.”
The air left the room.
“Where is that money, Eleanor?” Julian asked, his voice dead and terrifyingly quiet.
“I... I reallocated it,” Eleanor whispered. “Vanessa’s debutante tour, her penthouse lease in Manhattan when she tried modeling, the luxury cars... we spent it. I signed Brielle’s name on the trust distribution waivers.”
Julian let out a hollow, manic laugh, running both hands through his hair. “Forgery. Bank fraud on a federal trust. We’re not just looking at corporate theft. We’re looking at a multi-million-dollar criminal conspiracy.”
He picked his keys up off the marble counter.
“Where are you going?!” Vanessa cried out, grabbing his sleeve.
May you like
Julian violently jerked his arm away from her touch. “I’m calling a criminal defense lawyer. And if the DA offers me a deal to testify against you and your mother? I’m taking it in a heartbeat.”
***
