Chapter 3 - Gathering the Intel
The next morning, I didn't go back to the house. I checked Emily and Sophie out of the hospital and moved them into a secure, long-term hotel suite under a different name. I bought them new clothes, hot food, and everything they needed to feel safe. Then, I made a phone call.
"Marcus." "Jacob? Man, you're back stateside? Tell me you're having a beer right now." "I need a lawyer, Marcus. The ruthless kind. The kind we used to talk about when we were bored on night watch."
Marcus Vance wasn't just an old army buddy. He had left the military five years ago, used the GI Bill to go to law school, and was now a junior partner at one of the most aggressive corporate litigation firms in Charlotte.
An hour later, Marcus was sitting in my hotel suite, a laptop open on the coffee table. I handed him the black USB drive Emily had saved from the house.
"Your wife is a tactical genius," Marcus muttered as he clicked through the files. "If these are real, your dad isn't just broke. He's a felon." "Explain." "He's been running a shell game. Moving money from investors into dummy corporations. When the well ran dry, he used your mother's power of attorney to liquidate your assets to cover his tracks."
"Can we get my house back?" I asked, looking toward the bedroom where Emily and Sophie were finally sleeping peacefully. Marcus sighed. "Legally? It's messy. The power of attorney was technically valid, even if it was morally bankrupt to use it that way. Proving fraud will take months, maybe years in civil court."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. The soldier in me was fully awake now. I wasn't looking for a long, drawn-out civil suit. I was looking for total destruction.
"I don't want to just sue them, Marcus," I said, my voice cold and flat. "They left my daughter to freeze to death. I want them ruined. I want them to feel the cold."
Marcus stopped typing. He looked at me, seeing the look in my eyes that he hadn't seen since a very bad day in Kabul. A slow, dangerous smile crept onto his face. "Well," Marcus said, tapping the USB drive. "If we give this to the IRS and the FBI instead of a civil judge... your father is looking at twenty years in federal prison for wire fraud, tax evasion, and embezzlement."
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"Do it." "They're your parents, Jacob. Once I send this email, there is no going back. The feds will seize everything."
I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the snow covering the city. "They stopped being my parents the moment they locked that door."
