Chapter 3 - Locked Out of My Own Family
The morning sun cast a harsh, unforgiving glare over the manicured lawns of Summerlin. I had spent the remainder of the night in my home office, reviewing the digital forensics I had extracted from Dante’s safe. The scope of their deception was staggering. It wasn't just an affair; it was an elaborate financial conspiracy designed to strip me of my rightful stake in Moretti Holdings while leaving me publicly humiliated.
At 8:00 AM sharp, my phone rang. It was my mother.
I tapped speakerphone and kept typing away on my laptop. “Hello, Mother.”
“Claire,” Althia’s voice snapped through the speaker, dripping with the aggressive condescension she always reserved for me. “Where were you last night? Lily gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl, and you didn't even bother to wait for us in the waiting room. Honestly, your selfishness is astounding. Lily has been through a traumatic delivery, and the last thing she needs is your cold, distant energy hovering around her.”
I stopped typing, leaning back in my leather chair. A slow, icy smile touched my lips. “Is that so, Mother? And how is Lily doing? Who is supporting her through this difficult time?”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, a momentary stutter in Althia’s practiced rhythm. “That—that is none of your concern. We have private help. Family is rallying around her, as families should do when someone is in distress.”
“Ah, yes,” I murmured softly. “Family. Tell me, Mother, is Dante still in town helping out?”
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife. Althia’s breath hitched. “Dante? What does Dante have to do with this? He’s in Buenos Aires handling cargo acquisitions for the syndicate. You know how demanding his work is.”
“Of course,” I replied smoothly. “How silly of me to forget. Well, give Lily my warmest regards. Tell her... miracles happen every day in Las Vegas.”
Before she could sputter another word, I ended the call and blocked her number.
An hour later, I packed two designer luggage bags, loaded them into the back of my Porsche, and drove straight to my mother’s gated estate in Henderson to collect some personal heirlooms left to me by my late paternal grandmother—items that Althia had been holding onto under the pretext of 'safekeeping.'
When I pulled up to the security gate, I punched in the digital entry code I had used for the past ten years.
Access Denied. Invalid Code.
I tried again, pressing each digit deliberately.
Access Denied. Contact Property Administrator.
My mother hadn't just changed the gate codes; she had officially locked me out of the family property, operating under the assumption that I was still the obedient, clueless daughter who would meekly drive away in tears.
I didn't honk. I didn't lose my temper. I simply backed my car up, pulled over to the side of the private road, and called my security consultant, a towering ex-Mossad operative named Lev whom I had retained years ago when dealing with high-risk corporate audits.
“Lev,” I said when he answered on the first ring. “I’m outside my mother’s estate in Henderson. My access code has been revoked. I need you and two men at the front gates in fifteen minutes with the property title and local civil enforcement.”
“On my way, Mrs. Moretti,” Lev replied with quiet satisfaction.
When Lev’s black tactical SUV pulled up beside my Porsche, the effect was immediate. The estate’s private security guard scrambled out of his glass booth looking pale and panicked as Lev strode forward, flashing legal credentials and property documentation proving that the land the estate was built on had been legally deeded to me by my grandmother three years prior before Althia manipulated her into a secondary will.
Within five minutes, the security gates swung wide open.
I drove my car straight up the circular driveway, parked right in front of the double oak doors, and walked up the steps without knocking. I simply turned the brass handle—unlocked—and stepped inside.
The commotion brought Althia rushing down the grand staircase, her face contorted in absolute fury.
“Claire! What the hell do you think you’re doing? How dare you bring armed men onto this property? You are trespassing!” Althia shrieked, her manicured fingers trembling as she pointed at Lev standing stoically behind me.
I walked past her into the grand foyer, my heels clicking sharply against the imported Italian marble floor. I didn't look at her; instead, I walked straight to the antique display cabinet where my grandmother’s heirloom jewelry box sat.
“Trespassing, Mother?” I turned around, looking her dead in the eye with a gaze so frigid it made her step back involuntarily. “This house, this land, and every square inch of marble you’re standing on legally belongs to me under grandmother’s original unalterable trust. You and father have been squatting here rent-free for five years.”
Althia’s face drained of color, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “That—that’s impossible! Your father handled the estate papers!”
“My father is a glorified accountant who couldn't read a real legal document if it bit him on the nose,” I replied softly, walking right up to her until she was forced to look up at me. “You spent thirty years teaching Lily and me that loyalty is everything, Mother. But you forgot one crucial lesson.”
May you like
I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“Loyalty goes both ways. And your bill has finally come due.”
