Chapter 4 - The Counter-Strike
The following morning, I met with my attorney, Victoria Vance, in her downtown Annapolis office overlooking the harbor. Victoria was fifty-five years old, wore tailored gray suits, and possessed the sharp, predatory instincts of a hawk.
She reviewed the bank statements, the deed agreements, and the wire transfer receipts I had organized into neat, color-coded binders.
"This is breathtakingly stupid," Victoria said, dropping the page containing Kelsey’s fake payroll invoices onto her desk. "He actually created a paper trail linking your home equity loan directly to his girlfriend's personal account? Does he have a brain, Claire?"
"He has an ego," I replied. "He always assumed I wouldn't look. He thought I was too wrapped up in my own work to double-check his numbers."
"Well, his ego just handed us total leverage," Victoria said, leaning back in her leather chair. "Under Maryland law, dissipation of marital assets is taken extremely seriously. The court will not only force him to reimburse every cent, but we can also use this criminal exposure to terminate his right to any spousal support or equity claims on the main residence."
"I don't just want him to pay it back, Victoria," I said quietly. "I want him completely disentangled from my life. I want the car returned, the corporate accounts frozen, and I want Marlene served with an eviction notice for the remaining ten percent interest so we can force a judicial partition sale of her portion."
Victoria raised an eyebrow, a small grin spreading across her lips. "A partition sale? You want to force his mother to sell her ten percent back to you at market value?"
"At distress value," I corrected. "She can either sell it to me for pennies on the dollar to pay off Grant’s debt, or I take her to court for civil conspiracy to defraud a homeowner. Let's see how much she loves her son when her pension is on the line."
Before Victoria could reply, her secretary knocked on the glass door.
"Ms. Vance? Grant Miller’s attorney is on line two. He sounds extremely stressed."
Victoria smiled and hit the speakerphone button. "This is Victoria Vance."
"Victoria! Thank God," came the frantic voice of Arthur Pendelton, Grant’s lawyer. "Listen, we have a massive misunderstanding here. My client is willing to return the vehicle today. He’s also willing to sign a full waiver of interest in the Annapolis property if your client agrees not to pursue criminal charges regarding the domestic accounts."
I leaned toward the microphone. "Mr. Pendelton, this is Claire Whitmore."
"Claire... hi," Pendelton stammered. "Look, Grant is very remorseful. He admits he acted hastily yesterday—"
"Remorse isn't a currency I accept," I interrupted. "Here are my terms: Grant has forty-eight hours to execute a quitclaim deed transferring his ten percent interest—and any claim his mother thinks she holds—entirely back to me. He will return the company car to my office parking lot by noon today with a full tank of gas. And he will sign an unconditional confession of judgment for the two hundred and twenty thousand dollars he embezzled."
"Confession of judgment?" Pendelton gasped. "Claire, that would give you the legal right to seize his business assets instantly if he defaults!"
"Then he shouldn't default," I said cold-heartedly. "He has until 5:00 PM to sign. If he doesn't, the file goes to the State Attorney’s Financial Crimes Division."
I motioned for Victoria to disconnect the call. She pressed the button, cut the line, and looked at me with deep respect.
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"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Claire."
"He thought I was soft because I didn't scream when he left," I said, standing up and buttoning my jacket. "He forgot that soft things can freeze into ice."
