Chapter 8 - D-Day at the Country Club
Monday morning arrived with a biting autumn chill and slate-grey skies over Chicago.
We didn't go to the police station first. Instead, following the investigator's advice, we met David at a private conference room near the courthouse, accompanied by the state prosecutor and a senior forensic accountant. For three hours, we laid out the documents: the forged signatures, the shell corporations, the illicit wire transfers, and the systematic embezzlement of Eleanor’s estate.
The prosecutor, a sharp-eyed woman named Elizabeth Vance, looked over the paperwork with mounting disbelief.
"This isn't just civil fraud," Vance said, tapping her pen against the mahogany table. "This is felony grand larceny and elder financial exploitation spanning two decades. The statute of limitations on the ongoing concealment extends right up to the present day. We have enough here to freeze every asset Judith and Marcus control within the hour."
"Do it," David said coldly.
"Let’s pay them a visit first," I added, a slow smile spreading across my face. "They’re holding a charity board meeting at the Oak Brook Country Club this afternoon. Judith loves an audience."
By two o'clock, the four of us—Colin, David, myself, and Investigator Vance—walked through the gleaming glass doors of the Oak Brook Country Club. The annual Autumn Gala luncheon was in full swing. Wealthy local socialites in designer dresses and tailored suits sipped champagne under crystal chandeliers, laughing and networking.
At the center table sat Judith, looking radiant in a cream Chanel suit, laughing with the club president as she accepted compliments on her latest philanthropic donation—funded, ironically, with the very money she had stolen from Grandma Eleanor.
Brooke was sitting two seats away, showing off her diamond tennis bracelet to a group of admiring friends.
We walked straight down the center aisle of the dining room. The ambient chatter slowly died down as people noticed our purposeful strides. Judith looked up, her smile freezing instantly on her face as her eyes locked onto David walking beside Colin.
"David?" she gasped, half-rising from her chair, her face draining of all color. "What... what are you doing here?"
"Hello, Mother," David said, his voice ringing loud and clear across the silent ballroom. "It’s been a long time. Too bad you didn't expect me to come back from the dead."
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Brooke stood up angrily, her chair scraping loudly against the parquet floor. "Are you out of your mind crashing a private event? Security! Someone throw these people out—they don't belong here!"
"Actually, Brooke," I stepped forward, holding a thick manila folder in my hand, "we belong here more than anyone else in this room."
