Chapter 6 - The Tables Turn
Luca’s eyes darted past my shoulder, scanning the dark shelves of the study before snapping back to my face.
“What were you doing in here?” he demanded, his voice rising in pitch, losing its polished, aristocratic veneer. “This is private property. My property.”
“Your property?” I echoed, stepping out into the hallway and closing the study door firmly behind me. I didn’t look like a startled intruder; I looked like a prosecutor preparing to read an indictment. “That’s a very interesting word choice, Luca, considering my name is still on the original county deed and purchase ledger.”
Luca scoffed, though a bead of sweat formed near his temple.
“The quitclaim deed was filed and approved eighteen months ago,” he snapped back, crossing his arms defensively. “You signed it. The state recognizes me as the legal owner. You’ve been living abroad; you don’t know how local real estate transfers work anymore.”
“Oh, I know exactly how they work,” I said, taking a slow step toward him. “Especially when they involve a Cicero mailing store, a revoked notary public whose license was stripped for mail fraud, and a signature that doesn’t even match the one on my current passport.”
The color drained entirely from Luca’s face. The arrogant swagger evaporated, leaving behind a desperate, cornered animal.
“What... what are you talking about?” he stammered, his eyes darting toward the stairs as if calculating his escape route. “Are you accusing me of something? That’s defamation. I’ll call the police—I’ll have you removed from this house for trespassing!”
“Go ahead,” I challenged softly, pulling my phone from my pocket and holding it up so the screen caught the dim hallway light. “Call them. Let’s have the Cicero police department run a forensic audit on the electronic filing metadata of that quitclaim deed. Better yet, let’s invite the federal postal inspectors to look at how my monthly bank wires were intercepted and funneled into L&W Holdings.”
Luca staggered back half a step, hitting the wood-paneled wall with a dull thud.
“You... you checked the accounts?”
“Every single dollar,” I said, my voice dropping into a cold, flat register. “You took advantage of a grieving widow. You dressed her like a servant to break her spirit so she wouldn’t object to your theft. You forged my signature, stole my mother’s allowance, and turned the home I bought into your personal playground.”
Before Luca could liven his limbs to lunge or defend himself, heavy footsteps echoed up the front staircase.
Wendy appeared at the top of the landing, holding her half-empty mimosa glass, looking thoroughly annoyed by the raised voices.
“What on earth is going on up here? Can’t a person enjoy a drink in peace?” Wendy complained, walking down the hall. Then she saw Luca’s pale, trembling face and my unyielding expression. She stopped dead in her tracks. “Luca? Why does he look like that?”
“Ask your husband,” I said, turning my attention to her. “Ask him how long he thinks he can live in a house bought with my money before the federal fraud charges catch up to him.”
Wendy’s eyes widened. She turned to Luca, panic instantly distorting her features. “Luca? What did you do? Did she find out about the lawyers?”
“Shut up, Wendy!” Luca hissed, his voice cracking with fury. He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist. “Give me whatever you took from that study! Give it back right now or—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
From the end of the hallway, a firm, authoritative voice cut through the air like a knife.
“I wouldn’t advise touching her, Mr. Vance.”
Luca froze. We all turned our heads.
Standing at the top of the stairs, flanked by two uniformed county sheriff’s deputies and Marcus Vance holding a thick leather briefcase, was Officer Miller.
“Marcus?” Luca whispered, his voice trembling violently. “What is this? How did you get in here?”
Marcus adjusted his glasses, stepping forward onto the Persian carpet with absolute professional calm.
“I had a duplicate set of estate trustee keys, Luca,” Marcus said smoothly. “And when my client called me twenty minutes ago to report an active federal mail fraud and forgery scheme taking place on these premises, I advised the local authorities to accompany us to secure the scene.”
Officer Miller stepped between Luca and me, his hand resting casually on the utility belt near his holster.
May you like
“Mr. Luca Vance, Wendy Vance,” the officer said clearly. “You need to step away from Miss Vance immediately. We have an emergency judicial asset freeze order and a warrant to secure the premises pending a full forensic investigation.”
Luca looked like he had been struck by lightning. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. His grandiose illusion of ownership had shattered in less than five minutes.
