Chapter 5 - Felonies and Family Loyalty
My father moved with a frightening speed for a man who constantly complained that his high blood pressure prevented him from doing any physical labor. He threw his heavy frame in front of the front door, effectively blocking the exit with his shoulder.
“You are not taking one single step out of this house until you undo whatever the hell you just did,” he hissed, his eyes bulging.
At that exact moment, my phone began to vibrate in my back pocket.
Then it vibrated again. And again. Within seconds, it was buzzing continuously, a relentless barrage of notifications that made my hand shake as I pulled it out.
The screen was a blur of incoming calls and text messages. Aunt Renee. My university admissions adviser from Ellison. The county estate attorney. And a direct email notification from Marla Voss, an investigator from the County Financial Crimes Division.
My preparations from 3:00 a.m. were unfolding exactly as planned.
Brandon’s face was entirely gray now. He looked like he was going to vomit on the hardwood floor. “You actually sent the folder. You crazy, ungrateful bitch. You sent the whole folder.”
“What folder?!” my father screamed, looking between the two of us, his authority rapidly slipping away.
I looked my father dead in the eye. “The folder containing the forged loan applications you submitted under my name. The pawn slips for my stolen property. My grandmother’s trust fund statements showing the illegal cash withdrawals, and the fake medical bills you fabricated to cover your tracks when you emptied my tuition account.”
My mother let out a soft whimpering sound, covering her mouth. But as I looked at her, I realized something chilling. Her eyes didn't hold a single ounce of shock. They only looked exhausted.
She had known. She had known the entire time.
A heavy, authoritative knock rattled the glass of the front door, making everyone jump. Through the pane, I could see Aunt Renee’s furious face.
“Michael! Open this door right now before I break this glass!” she yelled from the porch.
My father ignored her, leaning in close to me, his breath smelling of stale coffee. “Ava, listen to me. Families handle their mistakes privately. We can fix this. We can pay the money back. But you do not air our laundry to the authorities. You are going to ruin this family.”
“Is that what we are calling multiple counts of identity theft and bank fraud now, Dad?” I retorted, my voice ringing clear through the foyer. “Family mistakes?”
With a desperate cry, Brandon lunged forward, his fingers clawing to grab the phone from my hand. I anticipated the move, twisting my body sharply to the left.
May you like
Brandon lost his footing on the polished wood, crashing heavily into the hallway console table. The impact sent our family photos flying. The framed picture of Brandon in his high school varsity football jacket hit the floor, the glass cracking directly through his handsome, arrogant smile.
Before I could even process the poetic justice of the cracked frame, my father’s hand clamped down hard on my upper arm.
