Chapter 13 - The Broken Patriarch
My mother ushered me into the living room, where the once-luxurious furnishings were draped in white dust sheets. The crystal chandelier overhead was dark, and the air smelled faintly of dust and old paper. My father sat at the bare mahogany dining table, staring blankly at a stack of legal notices and bank statements. When he looked up, the arrogant, booming voice that had once shouted me down at family dinners was completely gone.
"Lena," Daniel Callaway said, his voice cracking slightly. He stood up, leaning heavily on the edge of the table for support. "You look... professional. Very official."
"Cut the pleasantries, Dad," I said, remaining standing near the doorway. I didn't take off my coat. "Federal intelligence flagged a twenty-thousand-dollar wire transfer routed through a Cayman Islands shell corporation yesterday morning. Every asset you own is frozen under court order. If you moved money out of those accounts illegally, you are looking at federal conspiracy charges."
Dad slumped back into his chair, rubbing his temples with trembling fingers. "It wasn't me, Lena. I swear to God it wasn't me."
"Then who was it?" I demanded, stepping closer. "Because the signature on the authorization form matches your power of attorney."
Before my father could answer, the heavy oak door leading to the basement stairs creaked open. Footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floors. I turned sharply, my hand instinctively brushing the side holster concealed beneath my blazer.
May you like
Sophia walked into the dim dining room. She wasn't wearing her designer clothes or her confident smirk. She wore a plain gray hoodie and canvas sneakers, her hands stained with dirt and green paint from her community service park-cleanup detail. When she saw me standing there, her eyes widened with a mix of defiance and deep humiliation.
"It was me," Sophia said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I needed the money. And I knew how to access Dad's legacy accounts."
