Chapter 8
The silence in the hallway was suffocating. Grant stared at Claire, his mind racing to process the catastrophic failure of their plan.
“You... you were spying on us?” Grant stammered, his American accent cracking with sudden anxiety.
“I was protecting my son,” Claire corrected, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the small silver flash drive. She held it up between her fingers, the metal catching the morning light. “Do you know what this is, Grant?”
Madison looked between her father and her stepmother, confusion and fear creeping into her teenage features. “Dad, what is she talking about? Let’s just go to the police.”
“Shut up, Madison,” Grant snapped, his eyes glued to the flash drive. He swallowed hard. “Claire, whatever you think you heard—”
“I didn't just hear it, Grant. I proved it,” Claire interrupted, her voice ringing with absolute authority. “I spent the entire night in the trust archives. I found the shell companies. I found the fake charity designations your father set up in the Caymans. I found the wire transfers funding Kevin’s failing construction business.”
Grant’s face turned an ashen, sickly white. “You... you couldn't access those files. They were encrypted.”
Claire pulled her company access card from her pocket and held it up next to the drive. “I am the senior managing partner of the firm, Grant. I own the encryption keys. I own the servers. I own the money.”
Just then, the front door downstairs banged open. Heavy, rushing footsteps echoed through the foyer as Kevin burst into the house, his face red and slick with sweat. He took the stairs two at a time, nearly colliding with Grant on the landing.
“Grant! The accounts!” Kevin gasped, clutching the banister, completely ignoring Madison. “I went to pay the suppliers this morning. The cards are declining! Everything is frozen! The bank says there’s a federal hold on the entire Whitmore portfolio!”
Grant slowly turned his head to look at Claire. The arrogance that had defined his personality for forty-three years was completely eradicated, replaced by naked, shivering terror.
“You froze the trust,” Grant whispered, horrified.
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“I didn't just freeze it,” Claire smiled, a cold, merciless expression. “I initiated a mandatory internal audit and forwarded the initial findings to the IRS fraud division. The federal agents will be at your father’s house by noon.”
Madison dropped her backpack, the heavy textbooks hitting the floor with a loud thud. She finally understood that the comfortable, spoiled world she had always known was collapsing around her.
