Chapter 5 - The Phoenix Refuge
The morning sun in Phoenix was dry and hot, a sharp contrast to the damp coastal fog of San Diego.
I stood in the doorway of a modest four-bedroom house my sister, Rachel, had rented for us in a quiet suburb. Outside, my daughters were helping unload our suitcases from a rented trailer.
Gaby was setting up her younger sisters' beds, her face serious beyond her fifteen years. Paige and Maya were decorating their shared bedroom with drawings they had made on the plane. Little Zoey sat on the back porch, holding a worn stuffed bear, looking out at the desert landscape.
My phone rang. It was my attorney in California, Marcus Vance.
"Brenda, where are you?" Marcus asked, his tone urgent.
"Phoenix. We got in late last night. Marcus, what happened in San Diego? Teresa called me, but the news feeds are already blowing up."
Marcus let out a low whistle. "It's a disaster for the Millers, Brenda. Complete nuclear fallout. The story hit the local business journals this morning. Gavin and Raymond got into a fistfight that ended with Gavin in the hospital with a broken jaw and Raymond in a jail cell overnight for domestic battery."
I leaned against the kitchen counter, rubbing my temples. "And the DNA test?"
"100 percent confirmed," Marcus said. "Leo is Gavin's son. Brenda took the boy and checked into a hotel downtown, but Raymond already froze the joint credit cards. She’s threatening to sue both brothers. Meanwhile, Florence is hiding inside the estate with the curtains drawn, refusing to talk to the press."
I felt no satisfaction, only a profound sense of exhaustion. "What about the company?"
"That's why I'm calling," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a professional, calculating tone. "Pacific Oak Crafting's major distributors heard about the scandal. Three of our biggest retail partners in Oregon and Texas just paused their contracts. They don't want to be associated with a company run by a man whose family life is a circus."
"They don't trust Raymond," I said flatly.
"They never trusted Raymond," Marcus corrected cleanly. "They trusted you. You signed those contracts, Brenda. You built those distribution lines. Without you at the helm, Pacific Oak is losing forty thousand dollars a day. Raymond tried to call an emergency board meeting this morning, but he doesn't have the voting power."
I paused, my mind racing through the corporate structure I knew better than my own name. "Explain."
"You own 43 percent," Marcus reminded me. "Raymond owns 33 percent. Walter's estate owns 24 percent. With Walter gone, his shares are currently held in a neutral probate trust managed by the family bank until the estate is settled. Raymond cannot make a single executive decision without your vote."
"He told me I wouldn't get another cent from his family," I murmured, a cold, sharp smile finally forming on my lips.
"Well," Marcus chuckled dryly, "he's about to find out that his family doesn't have a cent left without you. What do you want to do, Brenda?"
May you like
I looked through the kitchen window at my four daughters. Gaby was laughing, helping Zoey hang a colorful picture on her bedroom door. They had been discarded because they weren't boys. They had been deemed worthless by a matriarch obsessed with an ancient, toxic tradition.
"Assemble the board, Marcus," I said, my voice hardening like steel. "I'm flying back to San Diego on Monday. It's time to clean house."
