Chapter 4 - The Golden Goose Dies
By noon, Trent and Brooke were sitting on the sidewalk with four mismatched suitcases and several black trash bags filled with their clothes. Neighbors walked their designer dogs past the scene, pretending not to gawk while discreetly snapping photos on their phones.
Trent was desperately dialing numbers on his phone. His mother, Gloria, was not answering.
That was because Gloria was currently blowing up my personal phone.
I sat in my corporate corner office on the seventeenth floor of the Scottsdale Waterfront complex, listening to my phone vibrate continuously against the mahogany desk. I let it ring four times before hitting speakerphone.
"Harper! What in God's name is happening?!" Gloria shrieked through the speaker, her voice trembling with manufactured hysteria. "Trent just called me from the curb! He says the police threw him out! Have you lost your mind? You threw your husband and your unborn grandchild into the street!"
"Hello, Gloria," I said, leaning back in my leather chair. "I received your text message this morning regarding Monday's thirty-five hundred dollar wire transfer."
"Well, yes!" she snapped back, trying to regain her authority. "Walt needs his medication! And with a baby on the way, the family needs financial stability more than ever! You promised to take care of us when you married Trent! A real Christian woman honors her promises to her in-laws!"
"That's interesting," I said, clicking my mouse to open the Nevada corporate registry. "Because I just pulled the bank statements for the account I’ve been wiring money to for three years. Walt isn't taking physical therapy, Gloria. In fact, Walt’s Medicare covers his entire medical regimen."
Silence hit the line. Heavy, suffocating silence.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Gloria stammered, her voice suddenly dropping an octave. "Walt has severe complications—"
"The account transfers automatically into Heritage Nest Holdings, an entity managed by Brooke Vance," I continued relentlessly. "You haven't been buying medicine, Gloria. You’ve been paying the rent on an upscale apartment in Tempe where Trent set up his mistress. You used my company’s earnings to furnish her apartment, pay her lease, and buy her designer purses, all while smiling in my face during Thanksgiving dinners."
"Harper, listen to me—"
"No, Gloria. You listen to me," I interrupted, my tone icy and deliberate. "Not another cent will ever leave my bank account for your family. And as of ten o'clock this morning, my forensic accountant and Marcus Vance have filed a formal criminal complaint for grand larceny and wire fraud with the Maricopa County Prosecutor's Office."
"You wouldn't dare!" she shrieked, panic breaking through her facade. "Trent is your husband! We are your family!"
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"You were con artists operating out of my checkbook," I said. "Enjoy supporting your son on his clerk salary. Let's see how much Brooke loves him when he’s living in your spare bedroom."
I ended the call and permanently blocked her number.
