Chapter 5 - The Stolen Line of Credit
The banquet hall had devolved into pure chaos. Waiters stood frozen against the kitchen doors, holding trays of uneaten dessert, while family members openly argued across tables.
Eleanor, realizing she was losing every ounce of leverage, tried one last desperate maneuver. She drew herself up, clutching her pearls, and glared at me with pure venom.
"Fine!" Eleanor shouted, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "You bought the house! You handled the business! But that money belonged to this family! It was Richard’s sweat, Richard’s blood! You owed it to us! And as for your precious sixty-two thousand dollars—you won't be using it anyway, Emma. Because tomorrow morning, I am calling the First State Bank. I will freeze every asset tied to the Alder name until a forensic audit is completed!"
Julian let out a cold, humorless laugh that stopped Eleanor dead in her tracks.
"Go ahead, Eleanor," Julian said, taking a step toward her. "Call First State Bank. In fact, call Detective Miller at the County Financial Crimes Division while you’re at it."
Eleanor’s eyes dilated. "What are you talking about?"
"Did you really think we wouldn't notice the commercial line of credit opened four months ago under Alder Logistics?" Julian asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, razor-sharp register. "A hundred and ten thousand dollars drawn down in lump sums of nine thousand dollars each. Directly deposited into an offshore account in Belize under the name 'Brooke Alder Creative Enterprises'."
Brooke froze, turning the color of wet ash.
"You forged Emma's signature on the corporate resolution, Eleanor," Julian continued, pulling a blue-tinted notarized document from the leather case. "You used her social security number, her corporate seal, and Dad’s old power of attorney, which expired the day he died. That isn't a family dispute, Eleanor. That is grand larceny, identity theft, and bank fraud. A class-two felony."
Eleanor reached behind her blindly, searching for a chair to steady herself. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed heavily onto the padded banquet seat, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
"No... no, Richard told me... he said the corporate line was available for emergencies..."
"Richard has been dead for five years!" I snapped, stepping forward so I stood directly over her. "And the emergency wasn't medical bills or keeping the heat on! The emergency was Brooke's VIP trip to Paris Fashion Week! The emergency was the leased Mercedes sitting in your driveway right now! You committed a felony to buy Brooke followers on Instagram while you told me I was ungrateful for refusing to pay for her six-tier wedding cake!"
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Eleanor looked up at me, but for the first time in my thirty years on this earth, there was no arrogance in her eyes. There was no condescending lecture about daughterly duty. There was only raw, unadulterated terror.
"Emma..." she wheezed, her hand trembling as she reached toward my coat. "Emma, we're your family... you wouldn't... you wouldn't send your own mother to prison..."
