Chapter 4 - The Legal Storm
The next morning, the real war began.
Mr. Vance called me at the lake house just as I was making coffee in the beautiful, sunlit kitchen.
“I filed the criminal complaints with the district attorney this morning, Claire,” Mr. Vance announced.
“The police are currently executing a search warrant at David and Susan’s residence.”
I gripped the edge of the granite counter, feeling a mixture of guilt and absolute vindication.
“Did they arrest them?” I asked.
“Not yet, but they seized their computers, bank records, and financial hard drives,” he replied.
“The evidence of embezzlement is overwhelming.”
Before I could even process the news, my cell phone buzzed with an incoming call from a restricted number.
I answered it cautiously.
“Claire, please, you have to stop this!” my mother’s voice pleaded frantically through the speaker.
“You are destroying our family over a stupid misunderstanding!”
I felt a cold rage settle in my chest.
“A misunderstanding is forgetting to pick up milk at the grocery store, Susan,” I said coldly, refusing to call her Mom.
“You systematically stole millions of dollars from an orphaned child for two decades.”
“We gave you a roof over your head!” my father suddenly yelled in the background.
“We fed you and clothed you when we didn't have to!”
“You used my own money to feed me, David,” I shot back.
“And you treated me like a servant while you treated Ashley like a princess.”
“If you don't drop these charges, we will countersue you for the cost of raising you!” he threatened blindly.
“Good luck paying a lawyer when the government freezes all your stolen assets,” I replied.
I hung up the phone and blocked their numbers permanently.
Mason walked into the kitchen, looking exhausted but resolute.
“They tried to call me too,” Mason sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“They want me to convince you to drop the lawsuit.”
“What did you tell them?” I asked, worried about the toll this was taking on him.
“I told them to enjoy prison,” Mason smiled faintly.
We spent the rest of the day cleaning the lake house and throwing away all traces of Ashley’s presence.
As I was dusting my grandmother's old bookshelf, a thick, leather-bound journal fell onto the floor.
I picked it up and realized it was my grandmother's diary from the year my parents died.
I sat on the floor and opened it to a random page.
“I fear I have made a terrible mistake trusting David with the estate,” the entry read.
“He is greedy, and Susan is viciously jealous of poor little Claire.”
“I must find a way to contact Arthur before my mind completely fails me.”
I frowned, tracing the name with my finger.
Who was Arthur?
I flipped through the pages, searching for any other mention of the name.
Finally, near the back of the journal, I found a loose piece of stationary tucked between the pages.
It was a letter addressed to an Arthur Bennett, bearing a return address in New York City.
“Arthur, you must know that your granddaughter survived the crash,” the letter said.
“David lied to you so he could maintain control of the maternal trust.”
I gasped, dropping the book onto the hardwood floor.
My biological father’s family was still alive.
May you like
I had a grandfather.
And my aunt and uncle had told him I was dead.
