Chapter 4 - The Paper Trail of Greed
By noon, the estate was finally clear of Gertrude and Prudence.
They had been escorted off the property carrying two cheap fabric duffel bags filled with plain sweatpants and t-shirts. Their designer clothes, diamond rings, gold necklaces, and luxury cars were all impounded in the garage, tagged as evidence for the upcoming civil and criminal trials.
They had nowhere to go except a tiny, dilapidated one-bedroom apartment on the far east side of the city—a place Prudence had once rented for a former boyfriend, funded, of course, by my monthly wires.
Inside the mansion, a team of professional organizers, deep-cleaners, and interior designers were already hard at work.
I had hired a local crew to strip every single piece of furniture Gertrude and Prudence had picked out. The velvet couches, the gaudy gold mirrors, the tacky chandeliers—everything was thrown into moving vans to be auctioned off at estate sales to repay the construction fund.
I walked up to the second floor, where Sarah and Jamie were sitting in a bright, sunlit room overlooking the gardens.
Jamie was sitting on a soft wool rug, playing with a massive set of wooden building blocks I had bought him that morning. His small face was clean, his hair was neatly cut, and he was wearing a brand-new soft blue sweater. He looked up as I entered, a timid, sweet smile appearing on his face.
"Daddy!" he chirped, holding up a wooden tower. "Look! I built a castle!"
My heart melted. Five years of desert heat, five years of isolation, five years of pain—it was all worth it for that single moment.
"That's a beautiful castle, big guy," I smiled, sitting down on the rug beside him and ruffling his soft hair. "You know what?"
"What?"
"This whole house is your castle now. You can build towers wherever you want."
Sarah walked over, carrying two glasses of fresh lemonade. She sat down beside me, resting her head against my shoulder. She smelled like clean lavender and warm sunshine.
"They came by the gate an hour ago," Sarah whispered quietly.
I frowned. "Who?"
"Prudence's friends. The ones who used to come to the parties," Sarah said, a small, triumphant smile touching her lips. "They wanted to drop off a gift for Gertrude. Security told them that Gertrude had been evicted for fraud and grand larceny, and that she was currently living in the east-side tenements."
I chuckled softly. "How did they react?"
"The woman dropped her gift bag, got back in her Mercedes, and drove off so fast she almost hit the curb," Sarah laughed, the sound bright and musical—a sound I hadn't heard in six long years.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Mark.
"David," Mark’s voice came through crisp and clear. "We just finished auditing the secondary accounts. You're going to want to hear this."
"Go ahead," I said, leaning back against the sofa while Jamie continued playing with his blocks.
"Gertrude didn't just steal your monthly transfers and construction funds," Mark explained. "She took out three private personal loans using your forged signature as a guarantor. Total principal: $420,000. She used the money to invest in a failed boutique fashion line that Prudence was trying to launch last year."
I shook my head, marveling at the sheer depth of their greed. "Who are the lenders?"
"Local private credit unions and two private investors in Bayside Heights," Mark replied. "And here's the kicker: the loans are defaulted. The collections agencies have been trying to serve papers for three months, but Gertrude kept hiding behind your estate address."
A dark, cruel smile spread across my face.
"Mark," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Give those collection agencies Gertrude and Prudence’s new address in the east-side tenements. Tell them David Ward has officially disavowed the forged guarantees, and that the debtors are residing at 412 Maple Street, Apartment 2B."
"Consider it done," Mark grinned through the phone. "Oh, and one more thing. The District Attorney’s office just reviewed the forensic report on the forged power of attorney. They are filing formal indictment papers tomorrow morning. Criminal fraud, identity theft, and grand larceny."
"What's the potential sentence?"
"For Gertrude? Given her age, four to six years in state prison. For Prudence, as an active accomplice who spent the stolen funds? Three to five."
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I looked at Sarah, who was watching me with calm, unwavering support. She had suffered for five years in silence. Now, justice was coming like a freight train.
"Proceed with everything, Mark," I said. "Don't hold back a single charge."
