Chapter 3 - The Trust's Teeth
That evening, the atmosphere in the Keating household was suffocating. My father sat at the head of the dining table, nursing a glass of scotch, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek. My mother avoided my eyes entirely, mechanically moving food around her plate. Talia was absent, having supposedly retired to her room with a migraine brought on by my "coldness."
Halfway through dinner, my father slammed his fork down, shattering the tense silence.
"I got off the phone with Mr. Vance today," Dad said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. Mr. Vance was our family lawyer—or rather, the lawyer my parents usually hired to handle property and minor disputes.
I didn't look up from my plate. I calmly cut a piece of chicken. "And what did Mr. Vance say, Dad? Did he tell you that attempting to siphon an educational trust set up by a third-party donor constitutes financial fraud?"
Dad's face flushed a mottled crimson. "Watch your tone, young lady. Mr. Vance said that as your legal guardian until you turn eighteen, we have considerable leverage over your living arrangements, your vehicle usage, and your extracurricular permissions. We can make life very difficult for you."
I finally looked up, laying my fork down with deliberate slowness. I met his glare without flinching.
"You can try," I said, my voice eerily calm. "But you should probably call Mr. Vance back and ask him if he read the actual addendum Grandpa Arthur attached to the trust documents—the one filed directly with the municipal probate court."
Dad froze, the glass of scotch halfway to his mouth.
"Grandpa anticipated this exact scenario," I continued, leaning forward slightly. "He knew you would prioritize Talia's failures over my future. So, the trust stipulates that if my parents or legal guardians attempt to coerce, withhold, or redirect my educational funds without my voluntary, notarized consent, immediate control of the entire estate transfers to an independent trustee, and an automatic audit of all household financial interactions with my account is triggered."
The dining room went dead silent. My mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Brennan stared at me, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth, realization slowly dawning in his eyes.
"You're bluffing," Dad spat, though his voice lacked its previous conviction.
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"Call Mr. Vance right now on speakerphone," I challenged, sliding my phone across the polished mahogany table toward him. "Ask him about the Arthur Keating Estate Clause 14-B. Go ahead, Dad. Let's see how much leverage you really have."
Dad stared at my phone like it was a venomous snake. He didn't pick it up.
