Chapter 16 - The Golden Child
Julian Pendelton was Arthur’s twenty-six-year-old son from a previous marriage—the golden boy who had spent his college years driving a BMW convertible, vacationing in Cabo, and mocking my "boring little spreadsheets" whenever we were forced to occupy the same room.
While I worked forty hours a week during college to pay for textbooks Arthur refused to fund, Julian had been given a vice president title at Hawthorne Holdings that required him to show up twice a month to sign vendor checks he never bothered to read.
When the news of Arthur and Evelyn’s arrest broke across the local Columbus channels, Julian had gone radio silent. His luxury loft in the Short North neighborhood had its blinds drawn, and his social media accounts had been scrubbed.
At nine the next morning, I drove my beat-up Honda Civic into the gravel parking lot of 1420 East Broad Street.
The property was a prime two-story brick commercial building occupied by a high-end dental clinic, an independent pharmacy, and an architecture firm. It was pristine, lucrative, and positioned right in the path of Columbus’s expanding urban corridor.
Parked near the building's main entrance was a sleek, black Porsche Panamera with dealer plates.
Julian was leaning against the hood, holding an iPhone to his ear, a leather portfolio tucked under his arm. He wore a camel-hair overcoat and sunglasses, looking like a man who believed the world was merely experiencing a temporary delay in catering to his needs.
I stepped out of my car, closing the door firmly. The gravel crunched beneath my boots.
Julian heard the sound, glanced up, and quickly ended his call. He took off his sunglasses, his handsome, petulant face twisting into a sneer.
"Well, well," Julian said, his voice dripping with condescension. "If it isn't the family snitch. Are you happy now, Hannah? You put my dad in a cage. You put your own mother in county lockup. I hope you're proud of yourself."
I stopped five feet from him, slipping my hands into my coat pockets. "Your father put himself in a cage the day he forged my father's signature. And your stepmother helped him murder my dad. So spare me the moral lecture, Julian. You don't have the range for it."
Julian’s sneer faltered for a second, his jaw tightening. "That's a lie. That's a sick, disgusting lie Bradley Vance manufactured to make a name for himself. My dad loved your father. He took care of you when David died broke."
"Is that what he told you?" I asked quietly. "Did he tell you that while he was paying your tuition at Miami University using lease payments from this building?"
Julian tapped the leather portfolio under his arm. "It doesn't matter what you think, Hannah. You're too late. The title to 1420 Broad is registered under Pendelton Capital Management LLC. Dad signed over sole management authority to me yesterday morning before the court order came down. In forty-five minutes, I’m signing the closing papers with an equity group from Chicago. Three point two million dollars, wire transfer directly into an irrevocable trust."
"You can't sell what you don't own," I said.
Julian laughed—a sharp, ugly sound. "Check the county recorder, genius. Pendelton Capital has held the deed since 2013. The buyer's title company already cleared the preliminary title search. Once the wire hits, I’m on a flight to Zurich, and you can spend the next ten years suing an empty shell company."
He unzipped the portfolio, pulling out a thick closing packet with pre-printed signature tabs. "My dad might have made mistakes with the accounting, Hannah. But he wasn't stupid. He protected me. He always knew you’d turn on us eventually."
I looked at the documents in his hands.
Then I reached into my coat and pulled out the brass key my father had taped to his letter twelve years ago, alongside a certified document bearing the gold seal of the Ohio Secretary of State.
"Do you know what this is, Julian?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes. "Another one of your spreadsheets?"
"This is the original corporate charter for Vance Commercial Holdings, filed in 1996," I said, my voice razor-sharp and steady. "Section 14, Clause B: Any conveyance, sale, encumbrance, or transfer of real property assets owned by Vance Commercial Holdings requires the explicit, notarized consent of the primary testamentary beneficiary—me."
Julian blinked, his confidence cracking slightly around the edges. "Pendelton Capital acquired Vance Commercial in 2013. It's on record."
"It's on record with a forged signature," I replied. "And thirty minutes ago, Judge Holbrook signed an emergency lis pendens notice against this entire parcel. If you sign those closing papers, Julian, you aren't committing a civil breach. You’re committing first-degree securities fraud and interstate wire fraud. The FBI agent who has been waiting in that unmarked sedan behind you will have you in handcuffs before your pen leaves the paper."
Julian froze.
May you like
His eyes darted past my shoulder toward the street, where an unmarked gray Dodge Charger was parked near the curb, two federal agents sitting silently in the front seat.
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