Chapter 4 - Panic at the Estate
The panic inside the estate escalated from a low murmur to absolute, frantic screaming within minutes.
Lorelai paced back and forth across the Persian rug—the very same rug her dog had soiled the night before—her manicured hands clawing at her pearls. "Call the bank! Call our wealth manager! There has to be a clerical error! Do they know who we are? We are the Montgomery family!"
Thatcher was already dialing frantically, pressing the phone against his ear while pacing the length of the hallway. "Yes, hello, this is Thatcher Montgomery. I need to speak to the vice president of private wealth immediately! My account has been—what do you mean restricted? On whose authority? ... Eloin? No, she doesn't have authority, she's just my—"
He choked on his own words. The bank representative on the line had just informed him that the master trust was originally established under Eloin’s exclusive intellectual property holdings, and that her digital signature held absolute revocation rights in the event of corporate asset tampering or breach of trust covenants.
"She can't do that!" Thatcher yelled into the phone, his face turning beet red. "We're married!"
"Sir," the bank representative replied coldly, "according to the pre-nuptial and corporate asset clauses filed three years ago, Mrs. Montgomery retained sole ownership of the underlying software patents that generate 100 percent of the trust's passive income. By executing a security override, she has simply reclaimed what belongs to her. Have a nice day." Click.
Thatcher dropped his phone onto the table, staring blankly at his mother. "She... she owns it all. Every cent we've been living on for the past three years came from her proprietary code. We don't have any independent money."
Lorelai stopped pacing, her eyes wide with sheer disbelief. For years, she had treated Eloin like an uneducated servant, mocking her long hours, her intense coding sessions, and her quiet demeanor. She had convinced herself that Eloin was entirely dependent on their grace and social standing.
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"Get in your car," Lorelai hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Go find her. Drag her back here if you have to. We have the country club dues coming due today, the estate taxes are due Friday, and the staff needs to be paid. We cannot survive forty-eight hours without those funds!"
Thatcher grabbed his car keys off the counter, his hands shaking so badly he dropped them twice. He rushed out the front door, slamming it behind him, desperate to hunt down the wife he had dismissed only hours earlier.
