Chapter 17 - The Table Turns
Attorney Goldstein’s professional veneer cracked instantly. He blinked, staring at my legal team, then back at me, before turning a bewildered look toward my mother.
"Evelyn," Goldstein muttered, his voice pitching upward. "You didn't mention that Mr. Vance was bringing corporate litigation counsel."
"He's my son!" my mother cried out, her frail act instantly morphing into venomous outrage as she realized the performance wasn't working. "He's supposed to be helping us! Look at me! I'm an invalid! I had a stroke because of the stress he caused by abandoning his own flesh and blood!"
"Mrs. Vance," David Vance—the forensic accountant—spoke up in a calm, lethal tone, opening his thick leather folder. "According to the medical discharge summaries we subpoenaed from County General, your 'stroke' was a mild ischemic event brought on by high blood pressure, perfectly consistent with a lifestyle of chronic financial panic and poor diet—not stress from your son, who hasn't spoken to you in nine months."
My mother choked back a gasp, her face flushing a mottled, angry red. "How dare you! You have no right to look at my medical records!"
"Under federal privacy laws, when medical expenses are tied to fraudulent loan applications under investigation, the state has every right," Sarah interjected smoothly, sliding a certified document across the table. "And speaking of fraudulent loans..."
Sarah tapped the corner of a crisp stack of papers. "Mr. Goldstein, before you try to bully my client into signing any 'familial restitution' agreements, I suggest you review Exhibit A through J. These are the verified wire-transfer logs linking your firm’s escrow accounts directly to unauthorized lines of credit opened in Mr. Ethan Vance’s name without his consent."
Goldstein’s face drained of color. He snatched the papers off the table, his eyes darting frantically across the lines of financial data. The slick, confident demeanor evaporated, replaced by the unmistakable panic of a lawyer who had just realized his clients lied to him about the origin of the funds.
"You... you didn't tell me this was corporate identity theft," Goldstein whispered, glaring sideways at Mason and Alyssa. "You told me it was a family dispute over a shared personal loan!"
"We didn't steal anything!" Alyssa shrieked, losing her temper completely, the delicate-flower act shattering into jagged pieces. "He's our brother! He has millions sitting in tech stocks! Seventeen thousand dollars is pocket change to him! He ruined our wedding! He ruined our lives!"
"And there it is," I said softly, leaning forward, locking my eyes onto my ex-fiancée and my brother. "The truth. You feel entitled to my labor, my money, and my life because you operate like parasites. You thought you could use my name, ruin my credit, and I would just roll over and pay the bill to keep up appearances."
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Mason slammed his fist onto the conference table, rattling the water pitchers. "Shut up! You arrogant, selfish prick! You’ve always hated this family! You left us to rot!"
"No, Mason," I said, my voice cutting through his scream like a scalpel. "I left you to face the consequences of your own actions. There is a massive difference."
