Chapter 4 - The Rat in the House
At 2:00 PM, I arrived at the gated entrance of the lake house in Lake Oconee—the sprawling six-bedroom stone estate Grant had claimed was his prized premarital asset.
The black iron gates were locked, but as the legal owner of the primary mortgage now in default, I had brought along two deputy sheriffs and a locksmith.
Within five minutes, the heavy oak front doors swung open.
Inside, the house was in utter disarray. Expensive crystal vases were broken on the hardwood floors, velvet sofa cushions were flipped over, and open legal files were scattered across the grand living room floor.
Sitting on a leather sofa, surrounded by empty wine bottles, was Patricia Calder.
She looked thirty years older than she had the night before. Her designer dress was wrinkled, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she held a half-empty bottle of expensive Chardonnay by the neck.
"Get out of my house!" Patricia screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me as I stepped into the foyer. "You traitorous little whore! You ruined my son! He's sitting in a holding cell right now because of your lies!"
"The house belongs to the bank now, Patricia," I said calmly, stepping around a pile of shattered porcelain. "And as the owner of the bank's debt, I am executing an immediate eviction."
"You can't evict me!" she shrieked, standing up unsteadily. "I have a life estate lease signed by Grant two years ago!"
"A lease signed on a property with a fraudulent title is legally void, Patricia," I replied, pulling a stack of legal documents from my leather briefcase. "Grant pledged this lake house as collateral to three different private lenders simultaneously. He committed mortgage fraud four times over on this single structure."
Patricia sank back onto the sofa, dropping the wine bottle onto the rug, where dark red liquid began to seep into the hand-woven wool. "He... he told me we were safe. He told me you had fifty million dollars in separate trust funds!"
"I do have fifty million dollars," I said, stopping directly in front of her. "In fact, I have significantly more than that. But not one single penny was ever going to be spent paying off your credit card bills or funding Grant’s fake billionaire lifestyle."
The side door near the kitchen clicked open softly.
I turned my head. Stepping out from the hallway was Grant’s personal secretary, a quiet twenty-four-year-old woman named Sarah, who was carrying a heavy cardboard box filled with hard drives and flash drives.
Sarah froze when she saw me flanked by the two deputy sheriffs.
"Sarah?" I said, eyebrows raised. "What are you doing here?"
Sarah looked at Patricia, then looked at me. She slowly lowered the box onto the kitchen counter, her hands shaking violently.
"Mr. Calder called me from the police station two hours ago," Sarah whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. "He told me to come here, unlock his wall safe behind the study painting, and burn these drives before the federal marshals arrived."
Patricia jumped up. "Sarah! Keep your mouth shut! You signed a non-disclosure agreement!"
"An NDA doesn't protect you when you're ordered to destroy evidence of federal wire fraud, Sarah," I said gently, stepping toward the girl. "If you hand those drives over to Detective Miller right now, I will personally guarantee that my legal team protects you from any co-conspirator charges."
Sarah didn't hesitate for a single second. She pushed the box of drives across the counter toward me.
"Everything is on there," Sarah said, wiping her eyes. "The offshore wire transfers, the fake invoice ledgers, and the secret recordings Grant made of Victor Vance planning the hostile takeover of your family's company."
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I looked at Patricia, whose face had gone completely gray.
"It seems your perfect son kept receipts on his own boss," I said, taking the box of drives. "Deputies, please escort Mrs. Calder off the premises. If she sets foot on this property again, have her arrested for criminal trespass."
