Chapter 4 - Masks Come Off
“It wasn’t like that!” Patricia burst out, dropping all pretense of innocence as tears of frustration finally spilled down her cheeks. “Mother, you don’t understand! Julian was in deep trouble! He had made some bad margin calls on the market, and if he didn’t cover his position that week, he was facing personal bankruptcy and potential fraud charges!”
“So you stole from a grieving widow and a fatherless child to save your spoiled son from his own reckless gambling?” Grandma stepped forward, her voice rising in a rare display of raw fury.
“Sarah didn’t need $180,000!” Patricia screamed back, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Look at her! She’s young, she’s healthy! She could work! Why should she get nearly two hundred thousand dollars just because her husband died? Julian had a real future! He was building a business! I was going to pay it all back as soon as his fund turned a profit!”
“He hasn’t turned a profit in two years!” Uncle Robert yelled, slamming his hand down on the table so hard the glass plates rattled. “He’s been living off our savings and lying to us! Patricia, how could you do this? How could you steal from Sarah?”
“I did it for our family!” Patricia sobbed, covering her face. “If Julian went under, the Whitmore name would have been dragged through the newspapers! I was protecting our reputation!”
“You were protecting your own vanity!” Grandma barked. She turned to Richard Vance. “Richard, what are the legal ramifications here?”
Richard adjusted his glasses, his expression devoid of emotion. “Grandbank wire fraud across state lines, grand larceny, and forgery. Because the trust is registered in Massachusetts and the account was opened in Colorado, this falls under federal jurisdiction. The total amount exceeds $150,000, making it a Class 3 felony. If prosecuted, the minimum sentence for wire fraud of this magnitude is five to ten years in federal prison.”
Patricia staggered back, sinking into a dining chair, her face drained of color. “Prison? Mother, you wouldn’t… I’m your daughter!”
“You stopped acting like my daughter the day you left Sarah to starve while you spent her money on luxury cars and resort trips,” Grandma said coldly.
Just then, the front door swung open.
In walked my cousin Julian, wearing an expensive designer coat, holding a bottle of aged scotch, and whistling a tune. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the room full of solemn faces, the attorneys with their laptops, and his mother weeping at the table.
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“Hey… what’s going on?” Julian asked, his brow furrowing. “Is everything okay?”
Grandma turned to face her grandson. “Julian,” she said softly, though her eyes were ice cold. “Take off your coat. The police are on their way.”
