Chapter 6 - The Freezing of the Assets
The downtown office of Vance Investigations smelled of old paper, gun oil, and dark roast coffee.
Frank Vance was standing in front of a whiteboard covered in flowcharts, bank account numbers, and corporate registries. When Maya and I walked in—carrying three water-damaged boxes of my surviving personal documents—Frank didn't ask about the eviction.
He had already heard.
“The county sheriff’s department received an anonymous tip twenty minutes ago that an illegal eviction was occurring at the Sterling address,” Frank said, handing Maya a bottle of water. “By the time the deputy arrived, your mother had locked the gates. It doesn't matter. We’re not fighting an unlawful detainer suit. We don't have time for civil court.”
“Frank, the surgery is in seventy-two hours,” I said, collapsing onto his worn leather sofa and elevating my throbbing leg on a low stool. “The hospital business office called me while we were in the car. If the wire doesn't post by Thursday at 5:00 PM, they are releasing the donor graft to a trauma patient in Chicago. I lose the slot.”
Frank picked up a red dry-erase marker and drew a heavy circle around Lauren’s name on the board.
“We don't need Arthur to sign anything,” Frank said. “And we don't need your mother’s permission. Lauren broke.”
I looked up. “What do you mean, she broke?”
“Detective Miller brought Lauren back in for a supplemental interview two hours ago,” Frank explained, a cold satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “We showed her the preliminary audit from the State Licensing Board for Real Estate. It turns out, Lauren didn't just steal your forty-five thousand. Over the past eight months, she’s been running an unauthorized escrow kiting scheme through her boutique design firm. She was taking deposits from high-end corporate clients, using that money to pay her personal mortgage, and then using the next client's deposit to cover the previous vendor's invoices.”
Maya let out a harsh laugh. “A Ponzi scheme. The suburban princess was running an interior design Ponzi scheme.”
“Precisely,” Frank said. “And when Liam’s settlement money hit his account, she thought she had found the holy grail—enough liquidity to plug the hole in her trust account before the quarterly audit next Monday.”
The office door opened, and a tall, silver-haired man in a bespoke navy suit walked in. He carried a heavy leather briefcase with gold latches.
“Liam, meet Thomas Sterling,” Frank said.
I stiffened. “Sterling?”
The man offered a warm, empathetic smile, extending a hand. “Second cousin, Liam. Your grandfather’s brother’s side. I haven't spoken to your father in twelve years—not since he tried to swindle my mother out of her share of the family farm in Madison County.”
“Thomas is a senior partner at Sterling, Hayes & Vance,” Frank explained. “He specializes in commercial forensic law and emergency equity relief.”
Thomas sat down in the armchair opposite me, opening his briefcase to reveal three thick stacks of legal motions bearing red emergency stamps from the County Superior Court.
“Liam, what your family did is not merely a family dispute,” Thomas said, his voice deep and measured like a church bell. “It constitutes an organized criminal enterprise under the state’s Corrupt Organizations Act. Your mother, your sister, and your father operated as an association-in-fact to commit wire fraud, grand larceny, and perjury.”
“Can we get the money back by tomorrow?” I asked, cutting directly to the only question that mattered to my physical survival.
Thomas pulled a specific document from the pile—an order signed by Judge Rebecca Vance of the Fourth District Court.
“This is an *ex parte* emergency restitution order,” Thomas said. “Because the forty-five thousand dollars was stolen from a court-supervised personal injury settlement intended for immediate medical preservation, Judge Vance has bypassed the standard waiting period. The county clerk has already issued a direct levy on Lauren’s corporate account and Travis’s personal investment portfolio.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “The funds are released?”
“They are being transferred to the clerk of courts right now,” Thomas nodded. “However… there is a complication.”
The air went cold again. “What complication?”
“Lauren’s bank balance was not forty-five thousand dollars,” Thomas said quietly. “After the party rentals, the taco bar, the car payments, and the non-refundable deposit to the resort in Cabo… there was only twenty-one thousand dollars left in the account.”
The room went completely silent.
Twenty-one thousand.
Less than half.
“The hospital won't touch the patient without full payment,” Maya whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. “They told him forty-five thousand certified, or the graft goes to Chicago.”
I leaned my head back against the leather sofa, closing my eyes.
Twenty-four thousand dollars short.
May you like
After all of it—the beating, the police, the public humiliation, the destruction of my home and drafting table—I was still going to lose the leg.
***
