Chapter 3 - THE BATTLE OF BELLEVUE
Forty-eight hours after the scandal at the penthouse, the fallout hit the local business community like a tidal wave.
I sat in the sleek glass conference room of Jenkins & Associates on the twentieth floor of the Bellevue Financial Center. Across from me sat Sarah Jenkins and two forensic accountants she had hired from Seattle.
On the large digital screen behind them was a complex tree of corporate entities, bank accounts, and property deeds.
“Mrs. Vance,” said David Miller, the senior accountant, tapping a red box on the screen labeled Victoria’s Atelier LLC. “Over the last eighteen months, your son Julian transferred a total of $412,000 from your personal liquidity accounts into his wife’s business. He did this by utilizing a forged power-of-attorney document dated two years ago—right around the time you were hospitalized for your hip replacement.”
I felt a cold sensation in the center of my chest, but I didn't let my face change. “He forged my signature while I was in the recovery ward?”
“Precisely,” Sarah Jenkins said, sliding a document across the polished conference table. “We have already filed a formal criminal complaint with the Pierce County Prosecutor’s Office for financial elder abuse and grand larceny. The prosecutor has opened a formal investigation. Julian’s law license is currently suspended pending a state bar disciplinary hearing.”
I closed my eyes for a brief second.
Forty years of scrubbing floors to give him an education, to put him through law school, to give him a clean suit and a respectable name... and he had used that education to steal from the bed I was recovering in.
“And Victoria?” I asked, opening my eyes.
“Victoria is attempting to liquidate her inventory,” Sarah replied with a small, cold smile. “She realizes her boutique’s reputation is ruined in Tacoma, so she’s currently packing up her Bellevue storefront to ship her luxury stock to a liquidator in Los Angeles. She’s trying to move the money out of state before our asset freeze takes effect at five o'clock today.”
I looked at my hands resting on the glass table. The knuckles were enlarged, scarred from years of bucket handles and harsh chemicals, but my mind was clearer than it had ever been in my entire life.
“When does the freeze take effect?” I asked.
“In three hours,” Sarah said.
I stood up, taking my dark wool coat off the back of the leather chair. “Then we have three hours to pay Victoria a visit.”
Forty minutes later, my black sedan pulled up in front of Victoria’s Atelier, an ultra-exclusive boutique located on Bellevue’s high-end shopping strip. The windows, usually filled with silk gowns and minimalist golden mannequins, were partially covered with brown butcher paper.
Inside, two movers were shoving heavy cardboard boxes onto hand trucks while Victoria frantically shouted orders, her hair unstyled, wearing a plain gray tracksuit instead of her usual designer wear.
The front door chimed as Sarah Jenkins, two uniformed sheriff’s deputies, and I walked into the store.
Victoria spun around, dropping a stack of expensive velvet hangers onto the floor. When her eyes landed on me, her face contorted with pure rage.
“What are you doing here?!” Victoria screamed, stepping toward us, her finger shaking as she pointed at me. “Get out of my store! You’ve already ruined my marriage! You’ve ruined my reputation! What else do you want from me, you old leech?!”
One of the sheriff’s deputies immediately stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on his belt. “Ma'am, keep your voice down and step back.”
Sarah Jenkins pulled a red-stamped court order from her leather briefcase and handed it directly to the lead mover. “Gentlemen, stop loading immediately. This business is under a temporary restraining order and asset seizure warrant issued by the King County Superior Court.”
The lead mover looked at the official judicial seal, nodded to his partner, set his hand truck down, and walked right out the front door without saying a word.
“No! No! Stop!” Victoria shrieked, running toward the door, but the deputy blocked her path with his arm. “You can't do this! This inventory belongs to my corporate entity!”
“This inventory was purchased with funds stolen from Mrs. Margaret Vance’s personal accounts,” Sarah said calmly, pulling a chair out from a glass display desk and inviting me to sit down. “Every piece of silk, every leather handbag, and every golden fixture in this room is subject to a constructive trust. As of twenty minutes ago, Mrs. Vance is the legal receiver of Victoria’s Atelier LLC.”
Victoria stared at me as I sat down on the velvet chair in the center of her boutique—the very chair she had used to hold private styling sessions for high-society women who paid five thousand dollars for a dress.
I looked around the room. The air smelled of expensive perfume and fresh paint—the kind of environment I had spent my youth cleaning while wealthy women stepped over my bucket without looking at my face.
“You called my hands rough three days ago, Victoria,” I said softly, looking at her eyes. “You told my son that an old housekeeper would embarrass your VIP guests.”
Victoria swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she backed away until her spine hit the glass display case behind her.
“I... I can pay you back,” Victoria stuttered, her voice suddenly small, desperate, bargaining. “Margaret, please! We can work out a monthly payment plan! If you let me ship this stock to LA, I can generate enough revenue to pay back the four hundred thousand dollars in two years!”
May you like
I looked down at my rough, scarred hands, then back up at her pale face.
“I spent forty years cleaning up other people’s messes, Victoria,” I said, standing up and pulling my coat tightly around my shoulders. “I’m not letting you move yours to another city. Sheriff, seal the premises.”
