Chapter 3 - The Morning After
(Perspective shift: Robert and Sylvia Sterling)
Robert Sterling stood in the kitchen of his sprawling estate, aggressively tapping the screen of his phone.
“Sylvia!” he barked, his face flushing crimson. “Why is my black card declining? I tried to authorize the caterer for Chloe’s gala next week and the transaction was rejected!”
Sylvia walked in, adjusting her diamond tennis bracelet, looking annoyed. “Don’t yell, Robert. It’s probably a bank error. Call the wealth manager.”
“I’ve been calling him for an hour! It goes straight to voicemail!” Robert slammed his phone onto the granite counter. “And where is Chloe? She was supposed to go to the salon.”
Before Sylvia could answer, the heavy oak front doors of the mansion shuddered under a series of violent, deafening knocks.
“Police! Open up! We have a warrant!”
Robert and Sylvia froze.
“Robert, what is going on?” Sylvia whispered, her arrogant facade cracking.
Robert rushed to the foyer, opening the door just as a team of officers, led by Detective Harrison, pushed their way inside.
“Robert and Sylvia Sterling?” Harrison asked, though he already knew the answer. He held up a thick stack of papers. “I have a federal warrant to search these premises, seize all electronic devices, and impound any assets purchased with funds traced to the Elena Vance Trust.”
“Are you insane?!” Sylvia shrieked, backing against the wall. “Do you know who we are? You can’t just barge in here!”
“Ma’am, your daughter Chloe was arrested an hour ago for grand theft auto,” Harrison said flatly. “She was driving a vehicle registered to your other daughter, Elena, with a forged title transfer.”
Robert’s face drained of all color. “Elena... Elena did this? She’s a lying, hysterical little girl! She gave Chloe that car!”
“Elena didn’t do this,” a cold, booming voice echoed from the open doorway.
The officers parted, making way for Arthur Vance. He stepped into the foyer, his cane tapping ominously against the marble floor.
Sylvia let out a strangled gasp. “Arthur...”
“You threw my granddaughter into a blizzard with a newborn child,” Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of an avalanche. “You stole her money, you stole her dignity, and you tried to freeze her to death.”
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“Arthur, please, there is a misunderstanding—” Robert stammered, raising his hands.
“Take everything,” Arthur said to the detective, ignoring Robert entirely. “I want this house stripped to the studs.”
