Chapter 4 - The Patriarch’s Dilemma
I pressed the call button, listening to the sharp, clear ringtones echo across the quiet corner of the records office.
It rang twice before a deep, gravelly, authoritative voice answered.
“Emily? Where in God's name are you?” Richard Parker demanded without a greeting. “Kevin is out of his mind. He’s standing on a freezing train platform in Minot, North Dakota, screaming that you abandoned him and took off. What is going on?”
I took a slow, steadying breath, projecting an aura of absolute, terrifying calm.
“Hello, Richard,” I said evenly. “I didn't abandon your son. I simply got off a train that was deliberately designed to keep me away from Chicago while he committed a felony.”
A heavy silence fell over the line. When Richard spoke again, his tone had shifted from aggressive panic to calculated caution.
“What are you talking about, Emily? Speak sense. You’re six months pregnant; you’re clearly stressed out—”
“I am perfectly calm, Richard,” I interrupted, sliding the certified quitclaim deed across the table so Marcus could photograph it with his tablet. “Your son forged my signature, falsified a medical affidavit using a fake doctor’s stamp, and illegally transferred my pre-marital commercial real estate—my aunt’s building—over to a shell company controlled by his mistress, Sabrina Holt.”
Another long, suffocating pause stretched across the phone line.
Then, Richard let out a low, ragged sigh that sounded less like shock and more like exhausted resignation.
“Sabrina Holt...” Richard muttered to himself. “I told that boy she was a liability.”
My eyes narrowed. “Wait. You knew about the affair?”
“I knew Kevin was entangled with someone from the commercial brokerage sector,” Richard admitted, his voice dropping into a harsh rasp. “I didn't know he was stupid enough to steal your property to finance her development projects. If the county recorder’s office uncovers a fraudulent title transfer tied to Sterling & Parker Holdings partners, our entire commercial lending portfolio could trigger a federal audit.”
“Oh, it’s worse than a federal audit, Richard,” Marcus interjected smoothly, leaning into the phone’s microphone. “I am Marcus Vance, Mrs. Parker’s legal counsel. We have already filed an emergency injunction freezing the Vanguard Holdings asset pool. Furthermore, we are preparing an immediate criminal referral to the state’s attorney for forgery and wire fraud naming both Kevin Parker and Sabrina Holt.”
“Wait—hold on! Don't involve prosecutors yet!” Richard snapped, his aristocratic composure finally fracturing completely. “Let’s not be rash. Family is family. We can handle this internally. Where are you right now, Emily?”
“I am sitting with my attorney,” I replied firmly. “And unless your son wants to spend the next ten years wearing an orange jumpsuit while his mistress loses her broker license, you are going to tell him to turn that train around right now, come back to Chicago, and sign over every single share of Vanguard Holdings back into my sole name—before I hand these files directly to the FBI.”
Richard didn't hesitate for another second.
“Give me two hours,” Richard rasped. “I’ll charter a private flight to intercept him in Montana, drag him off that train by his collar, and bring him straight to my office. Do not file those papers until you hear from me.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
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I looked up at Marcus, my heart hammering against my ribs, feeling the terrifying, exhilarating rush of absolute power.
“He’s going to break his own son,” Marcus whispered, admiring his fingernails. “And we are going to sit back and watch the empire burn.”
