Chapter 3 - The Golden Child
The sound of a car engine revving aggressively in the driveway broke the suffocating silence in the kitchen. A moment later, the front door swung open again.
“Hey, family!” a booming, arrogant voice called out from the hallway. Heavy footsteps approached the kitchen. “Did the Boston bank clear? Tell me we’re popping champagne today!”
David sauntered into the kitchen. He was wearing a designer suit that I knew for a fact he couldn't afford, a flashy watch, and a grin that made me want to throw up. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the scene before him: his mother pale and trembling, his brother staring at divorce papers with tears in his eyes, and me, standing tall with a serene smile on my face.
“What’s going on?” David asked, his smirk faltering. “Where’s the check?”
“There is no check, Davey,” I said sweetly. “The money is locked in a Trust. It’s untouchable.”
David’s face contorted into something ugly and dangerous. He lunged toward Mark, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “What is she talking about, Mark?! You promised me! You said the money was coming today! The loan sharks are giving me until Tuesday!”
“Get your hands off him!” Barbara shrieked, trying to pry her two sons apart.
“She hid it!” Mark cried, pushing David away. “She put it in a Trust! We can’t touch it, Dave. I’m sorry.”
David turned his venomous glare onto me. “You selfish bitch. You have five million dollars and you’re just going to let me go under? I will lose everything! They are going to take my car, my condo, everything!”
“You never had anything to begin with, David,” I replied, my voice steady. “Everything you own is built on a mountain of debt and stolen money. Including the ninety-five thousand dollars you took from me. By the way, my lawyers have already filed a civil suit against your LLCs for the recovery of those funds. Expect to be served by Monday.”
David looked like he was going to hit me. He took a menacing step forward, his fists clenched.
I didn't flinch. I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, the screen already lit up with 911 dialed. My thumb hovered over the call button.
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“Take one more step, David,” I challenged him, my eyes locked onto his. “Give me a reason to have you arrested for assault on top of the fraud charges. Please.”
David froze. He knew I wasn't bluffing. The terrified little wife who used to quietly serve them Thanksgiving dinner was dead. She died the day she buried her mother.
