Chapter 6 - THE FORGED SIGNATUREArthur Halston walked into the forty-second-floor conference room five minutes later, looking like a man who had aged ten years in seventy-two hours.
His hair was uncombed, his tie was slightly crooked, and his dark eyes were bloodshot behind his gold-rimmed glasses. Beside him stood Robert Sterling—a high-priced criminal defense attorney who looked thoroughly uncomfortable to be there.
My father didn't look at Lucas. He walked straight to the head of the conference table, staring at me with a mixture of desperate anger and wounded authority.
“Claire,” Arthur began, his voice rough. “You need to put an end to this circus right now. The state prosecutor called my office two hours ago. They’re threatening to issue an indictment for insurance fraud and forgery.”
“They aren't threatening, Dad,” I said calmly from my seat at the table. “They’re executing the warrant at two o'clock today.”
Arthur’s face twitched. He slammed his palm flat against the glass table, making the water glasses rattle. “I am your father! Everything I built—the firm, the country club membership, the trust accounts—I built for this family! You are destroying thirty years of work over a bitter grudge!”
“A bitter grudge?” I stood up slowly, leaning my hands on the glass table, looking him straight in the eyes. “You forged my name on the Vance Trust land transfer while I was in a hospital bed with second-degree burns across forty percent of my body.”
Robert Sterling, Arthur’s attorney, winced slightly and looked down at his leather notepad.
“That land was sitting idle!” Arthur shouted, his voice cracking with rage. “It was doing nothing! I used that collateral to secure the funding for Fifth Street! If I hadn't done that, Halston Developments would have gone under during the 2012 recession!”
“You used my stolen inheritance to fund Vanessa’s career,” I said, my voice as cold and smooth as marble. “You gave her the Fifth Street project as her twenty-fifth birthday present, while you gave me a five-hundred-dollar monthly allowance and told me to stay out of the family photos.”
“Claire,” Arthur rasped, dropping his hands, his posture suddenly deflating as he realized the legal wall he was backing into. “What do you want? Tell me what you want. We can settle this privately. I’ll give you twenty percent equity in the Fifth Street project. I’ll give you five million dollars in cash right now.”
Lucas Vance stepped forward from the side of the room, opening a manila folder and placing a multi-page legal document in front of my father.
“This is a formal petition for full receivership of Halston Developments,” Lucas said, his tone razor-sharp. “Under state probate law, because the Fifth Street property was acquired using forged trust assets, Claire is filing for immediate seizure of all development rights, corporate holdings, and liquid revenue generated by the project.”
Arthur stared at the paper as if it were a poisonous snake. “You... you’re taking the company?”
“I’m taking what was stolen from me, Dad,” I said quietly. “And as of one hour ago, the state licensing board has suspended Vanessa’s real estate broker license pending the outcome of the fraud trial.”
Arthur sank into one of the leather executive chairs, burying his face in his hands, let out a long, ragged groan of defeat.
“She... she doesn't know how to handle this, Claire,” Arthur wept, his voice muffled behind his hands. “Vanessa is unraveling. She hasn't left her bedroom in two days. You’re destroying your sister.”
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I looked down at my father—a man who had spent thirty years protecting the golden child at the expense of the broken one.
“Vanessa destroyed herself the night she lit that match, Dad,” I said softly. “You just helped her build the fire.”
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