Chapter 2: The Midnight Audit
Chapter 2: The Midnight Audit
The storm outside grew more ferocious, but inside the Vance-Morrison mansion, the atmosphere was festive. Through the frosted glass of the living room windows, Eleanor and her husband, Thomas, were celebrating. Vanessa was sitting on the velvet sofa, a glass of expensive champagne in her hand, admiring her new diamond earrings in the reflection of her phone screen.
"It was so easy," Vanessa laughed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "Did you see her face when I told her the car was sold? She actually believed we were struggling. She looked like a drowned rat standing in the hallway."
"She’s always been soft," Thomas Morrison said, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he stood by the fireplace. "Just like her grandmother. She thinks because she has a trust fund, she’s entitled to a life of luxury without doing any of the heavy lifting. We did her a favor, really. A girl like that would have ruined the Vance reputation with that illegitimate child anyway."
"Let's just ensure the paperwork for the New York transfer is finalized by Monday," Eleanor added, adjusting her pearl necklace as she walked over to the desk. "If Arthur looks too closely at the quarterly distribution, he might notice the routing discrepancy. But as long as Claire is out of the house and unable to access her accounts, there's no one to challenge the signature."
Suddenly, the heavy oak front doors of the mansion shook with a violent, authoritative knock.
Thomas frowned, setting his glass down on the mantelpiece. "Who the hell is that at this hour? The storm is freezing everything over."
He walked into the marble entryway, pulling the door open with an annoyed sigh. "Look, whatever you're selling, we aren't interested—"
His words died in his throat.
Standing on the snow-covered porch was Detective Miller, flanked by four uniformed officers in tactical winter gear. Behind them, the black Bentley sat idling, its headlights cutting through the darkness like two searchlights.
"Thomas Morrison?" Detective Miller asked, stepping into the warm entryway without waiting for an invitation.
"Yes, but what is the meaning of this?" Thomas demanded, his voice rising as Eleanor and Vanessa came out of the living room, their smiles fading into confusion. "This is private property. You can't just barge in here—"
"We are here to execute a search and seizure warrant," Detective Miller announced, producing the document from his pocket. "As well as arrest warrants for Eleanor Vance-Morrison, Thomas Morrison, and Vanessa Morrison on charges of grand larceny, bank fraud, and identity theft."
Eleanor’s face turned completely white. She staggered back against the gold-leaf console table, her hand flying to her mouth. "Arrest? This is a mistake! My father is Arthur Vance! He owns the bank you're talking about! You can't arrest us!"
"I am well aware of who your father is, Eleanor," a voice spoke from the shadows outside.
Grandpa Arthur stepped into the entryway, his cane striking the marble floor with a sharp, echoing crack. I followed closely behind him, wrapped in a thick fur blanket he had provided, with Lily tucked safely against my chest.
Vanessa’s eyes widened as she looked at me, then at the police officers who were already moving toward her with silver handcuffs. "Claire! What did you do? You psychotic little bitch, you ruined everything!"
"Keep your mouth shut, Vanessa," Grandpa Arthur commanded, his voice so sharp it made her flinch. He walked into the center of the entryway, looking at his daughter and son-in-law with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust. "For four years, I have watched you spend money like water. I assumed Thomas’s firm was finally profitable. I didn't realize you were leeching off the trust I built for my wife's granddaughter. I didn't realize you were stealing from a pregnant girl."
"Dad, please," Eleanor sobbed, dropping to her knees on the marble floor, her pearls clicking against the stone. "We were in trouble. The market crashed last year, and Thomas’s investors withdrew. We were going to lose the house! We were only borrowing the funds until the new tech portfolio launched. We were going to pay her back!"
"You left her to walk through a blizzard with a forty-eight-hour-old child, Eleanor," I said, stepping forward from behind my grandfather. The fear I had felt an hour ago was completely gone, replaced by a cold, steady anger that gave me a strength I didn't know I possessed. "You told me you sold my car to pay bills, while Vanessa was driving it to her luxury penthouse. You took my medical fund while I was lying in a hospital bed wondering how I was going to buy formula for my daughter."
"You don't deserve that money!" Vanessa screamed as an officer pulled her arms behind her back, the handcuffs clicking into place. "You're a disgrace! You got pregnant by some random nobody who didn't even care enough to stay! You were going to waste the Vance fortune anyway!"
"The 'random nobody' you are referring to," Grandpa Arthur said quietly, "was a military officer who died in a training exercise six months ago. A man who left his child a survivor's benefit that you also tried to route into your personal account last week. I’ve already contacted the military police, Thomas. This isn't just a state fraud case anymore. It's a federal offense."
Thomas’s knees buckled. He sank onto the bottom step of the grand staircase, his head in his hands as the officers pulled him to his feet.
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Within ten minutes, the mansion was empty of its luxury. The three of them were led out into the freezing snow, their expensive coats confiscated as evidence, their screams of anger muffled by the wind.
Grandpa Arthur turned to me, his expression softening as he looked down at Lily’s small, sleeping face. "This house belongs to the trust, Claire. It always did. I built it for your grandmother, and I leased it to them under the condition that they maintain it for you. It’s your home now. But tonight, we are going to my estate. You and my great-granddaughter have had enough drama for one lifetime."
