Chapter 12 - The Ghost of the Past
While Reid was busy fine-tuning his robot's autonomous sensors in the school's electronics lab, my own life was moving forward at a breathless, exhilarating pace. My high school counselor called me down to her office during fourth period to review my final transition paperwork for Iowa State University. Everything was officially locked in: my presidential scholarship was fully funded, my housing assignment for the upcoming fall semester was confirmed, and my advanced credit transfers from my AP classes had all been accepted without a single hitch.
Yet, even as our household settled into a peaceful, thriving rhythm, the legal machinery set in motion by our attorney, Mr. Vance, continued to grind away in the background. Blythe’s betrayal hadn't vanished just because she had been evicted from our lives; it had left a legal and financial paper trail that the state of Iowa was determined to unravel completely.
On Wednesday afternoon, right after the final school bell rang, Dad received a call from Mr. Vance requesting our presence at his downtown office on Thursday morning. It wasn't a deposition this time, but rather a formal review of the asset recovery settlement. Blythe’s seized bank accounts, liquidated luxury items, and frozen business assets were finally being parsed out by the court, and a portion of the stolen funds was scheduled to be transferred directly back into our restored college savings account.
"Do we have to go down there?" Reid asked as we sat around the dinner table that evening, eating a simple, comforting meal of homemade lasagna that Dad had picked up from our favorite local Italian bakery. "Honestly, seeing her face again sounds about as appealing as a root canal without anesthesia."
"You don't have to come if you don't want to, son," Dad said gently, passing the garlic bread to me. "Mr. Vance just wants me there to sign the final restitution release forms and verify the account deposits. Laurel has a free period after her university advising appointment, so she agreed to ride along with me."
"I want to go," I said, meeting Dad's gaze across the table. "I want to be there when the ledger finally balances out to zero. I want to see the very last trace of her destructive influence officially wiped off our financial records."
Dad nodded approvingly, his expression solemn yet resolute. "Fair enough. We finish this chapter tomorrow, once and for all."
The following morning, the sky over Des Moines was a brilliant, blinding blue, though the temperature hovered stubbornly below freezing. Dad and I parked our sedan in the underground garage of the downtown legal building and took the elevator up to the fourth-floor conference room. Mr. Vance was already waiting for us, flanked by a stack of thick paper files bound with heavy red rubber bands.
"Good morning, Grant, Laurel," Mr. Vance greeted us, shaking our hands with a firm, professional grip. "I have some very good news regarding the asset liquidation."
He opened the top file and slid a printed bank statement across the polished mahogany table. I leaned in to read the figures, my breath catching in my throat. There, stamped with the official seal of the state banking division, was a deposit confirmation for the exact amount Blythe had embezzled from our college savings—plus court-mandated interest and legal fees.
"The frozen corporate assets and the auction proceeds from Mrs. Mercer's remaining luxury goods yielded enough to cover the entirety of the stolen principal," Mr. Vance explained, tapping his pen against the paper. "Furthermore, her defense attorney has formally withdrawn from the case due to non-payment of retainers, and the state prosecutor has officially filed two counts of felony grand larceny and financial fraud against her."
I looked up at Dad. His face was entirely unreadable for a long moment. There was no triumphant smirk, no petty satisfaction—only a profound, heavy sense of closure. He picked up the silver-barreled pen resting beside the restitution release form, signed his name cleanly across the dotted line, and handed the pen back to the attorney.
"It's over," Dad said quietly.
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"It's over," Mr. Vance agreed, sliding the documents back into their folder. "You and your children can finally move forward without looking over your shoulders."
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