Chapter 8 - The Financial Dominoes
Back in San Diego, I watched the live camera feed capture every humiliating detail of their ejection into the freezing Tahoe night.
My phone buzzed on the desk. This time, it wasn't Ethan or Michael Vance. It was my father’s cell phone number flashing across the screen.
I let it ring three times before sliding my thumb across the screen to accept the call, pressing speakerphone so I could hear the exact pitch of his desperation.
“Dad,” I said, my voice smooth and entirely devoid of emotion.
“You... you actually called the police on your own family,” Dad choked out, the sound of howling mountain wind echoing loudly in the background over his heavy breathing. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? We’re standing in the freezing snow, our cars are blocked by a tow truck, and Olivia is having a panic attack!”
“You called me a trespasser in my own home, Dad,” I replied evenly. “You told me I wasn't welcome, ordered me back to my base, and handed my property over to Olivia like it was a spare pair of shoes. Did you really think there wouldn't be an accounting?”
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“I’m your father!” he roared, his voice cracking with fury and humiliation. “Family doesn't treat family like criminals over property!”
“Family also doesn't steal one hundred and ten thousand dollars from a grieving widow, lie about creditors to extort money, or conspire to steal a veteran’s home,” I countered, the sharpness in my tone instantly silencing him. “And speaking of that money... my attorney tells me the formal asset recovery filings for your primary residence back in Sacramento hit the county clerk's desk about twenty minutes ago.”
