Chapter 3 - THE BANK AND THE BASTARD
By Tuesday, I had secured a meeting with Charles Vance, the cutthroat attorney my father had retained before his death. Vance’s office was downtown, sleek and intimidating.
"Your father was a paranoid man, Sarah," Vance said, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the dossier. "But in this case, his paranoia was entirely justified. Marcus committed federal wire fraud, insurance fraud, and forgery."
"I don't just want him in jail," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I want him destitute. I want Eleanor out of my house. Today."
Vance smiled, exposing perfectly white teeth. "Consider it done. I'm freezing his accounts as we speak. As for the house, we'll send the sheriff."
As I was leaving the law office, my burner phone buzzed. I had bought it that morning, leaving my old phone turned off to avoid Marcus's tracking. But the caller ID flashed a local Oakhaven number. I answered.
"Sarah?" It was Marcus. He sounded panicked, not arrogant. "Sarah, where are you? The bank just locked my debit cards. Did you do something?"
"I'm adjusting to my new life as a burden, Marcus," I replied coldly.
"Listen to me," he snapped, his true colors bleeding through the panic. "You come back here and fix this. You owe me! I took care of your brat while you were off playing soldier!"
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"Check your front lawn, Marcus," I said, and hung up.
A moment later, Vance texted me a live video feed from the security cameras my dad had secretly installed at our marital home. Sheriff's deputies were dragging Eleanor's designer luggage onto the wet driveway, while Marcus screamed at a deputy holding the eviction notice.
