Chapter 2 - The Assessment of the Damage
Within ten minutes, I had cleared the mansion. I didn't care about the high-society guests, the local politicians, or the influencers my family had invited to flaunt my wealth. I walked into the main dining room, picked up the master audio controller, and shut off the music. Then, standing before the stunned crowd, I announced that the party was over and that anyone remaining on the property in five minutes would be arrested for criminal trespass.
The guests scattered like rats. Margaret and Jennifer tried to throw tantrums, screaming about social humiliation, but I ignored them entirely, locking myself and Emma into the master suite—a room that, to my horror, looked completely stripped of Emma’s personal belongings.
I sat Emma down on the edge of the plush king-sized bed. I knelt before her, holding a warm, damp towel I had fetched from the bathroom. Gently, meticulously, I began to wipe away the sweat, dirt, and soap residue from her arms and face.
"Talk to me, Emma," I pleaded softly, looking up into her hollow, exhausted eyes. "Please. Tell me everything. My mother told me you moved to the guest house because you wanted 'space' and found the main house 'too stressful.' She sent me forged emails from your account."
A bitter, heartbroken laugh escaped Emma's lips. "The guest house? Leo, they didn't even let me live there. They moved me into the small maid's quarters above the detached garage three years ago. They changed the locks on the main house. They told me that if I ever complained to you, if I ever called your international number, they would use your corporate lawyers to file for a fraudulent divorce, claim I was mentally unstable, and ensure I was left on the street with a ruined reputation."
My grip on the towel tightened until my knuckles turned white. "And the money? I set up a joint trust account for you. There was five hundred thousand dollars deposited into it every single month."
"I never saw a single penny," Emma whispered, a fresh tear falling onto my hand. "Jennifer took my ID and my signature cards during the first year you were gone. She told me the bank required her co-signature as a family trustee. Every time I asked for money even to buy groceries or new clothes, your mother would lecture me about being a gold-digger. They made me use a cash allowance of two hundred dollars a week. I had to show them receipts for everything... even tampons, Leo."
I closed my eyes, a wave of profound guilt and self-loathing crashing over me. I had built a global empire, recognized as a financial genius by Forbes and Wall Street, yet I had allowed the woman who built me to be systematically tortured by my own flesh and blood.
"Why didn't you write to me? Send a message through the restaurants?" I asked, my voice cracking.
"I tried," Emma said, her voice trembling. "Two years ago, I walked to the downtown Dallas branch of Leo’s Kitchen. I tried to speak to the regional manager you hired. But Jennifer had already been there. She told the staff that I was a disgruntled former employee with a history of stalking the family. Security escorted me out. After that, Michael took my old car away, saying it was a 'disgrace' to the family image to have an old sedan parked in the driveway. I was trapped here, Leo. Literally trapped."
I stood up, the absolute fury inside me settling into a cold, calculated, and clinical desire for total destruction. I walked over to the desk, pulled out my encrypted satellite phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in years.
It was the private line of Arthur Vance, the most ruthless corporate and criminal defense attorney in the state of Texas—a man whose firm I kept on a massive million-dollar annual retainer.
"Arthur," I said when the line connected. "I’m back in Dallas."
"Leo! Welcome home, my friend," Arthur’s deep baritone voice boomed. "I assume you're calling about the expansion into the European markets?"
"No," I said, my voice dripping with ice. "I am calling to execute a total asset liquidation and a criminal investigation. I want a full forensic audit of the Bennett Family Trust, the corporate expenses of Margaret, Jennifer, and Michael Bennett, and I want an immediate filing for identity theft, grand larceny, and human trafficking/forced labor against all three of them."
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end of the line. "Leo... those are your mother and siblings. Are you certain?"
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I looked back at Emma, who was sitting on the bed, her frail frame swallowed by the luxury of a room she had been barred from entering for years. I saw the raw skin on her hands, the exhaustion etched into her beautiful face.
"They aren't my family, Arthur," I said, staring out the window at the luxury cars parked in the driveway below. "They are parasites. And I’m about to starve them to death. I want your team at the mansion tomorrow morning at six a.m. Bring private security. We are taking control of everything."
