Chapter 4 - The Counter-Attack
At 8:30 AM on Monday, I walked into the downtown offices of Vance & Sterling, Attorneys at Law.
Sarah Vance, a sharp fifty-year-old forensic litigation attorney with cold gray eyes and an impeccable grey suit, reviewed my file while sipping black coffee. She didn't gasp, she didn't offer sympathy, and she didn't waste time—which was precisely why I had hired her.
"This is remarkably clean," Sarah said, tapping her pen against the wire transfer receipt from Patricia's bank. "Your fiancé had legal access to the joint account, which complicates the twenty-six thousand dollars slightly, though we can easily argue breach of fiduciary duty within a domestic partnership. But the nineteen thousand dollar catering refund? That is crystal-clear grand larceny and corporate forgery."
"Patricia thinks her family name protects her in this city," I said, sitting upright in the leather chair.
"The Whitmore name carries weight in country club politics, Emily," Sarah replied, leaning back. "It carries zero weight in the Eastern District Civil Court. Here is what we are going to do."
She pulled out a yellow legal pad and began writing in sharp, swift strokes.
"First, we freeze the joint accounts immediately via an emergency injunction to prevent Daniel from liquidating any remaining funds. Second, we issue a formal civil demand letter to Patricia Whitmore for forty-nine thousand dollars, plus legal fees, with a seventy-two-hour deadline."
"And if she doesn't pay?"
"Then we file a civil fraud lawsuit in public record," Sarah said, a thin, predatory smile touching her lips. "And I send a copy of the complaint, complete with the frozen chicken tender invoices and bank statements, to the board of directors at Whitmore Logistics—where Richard Whitmore is currently up for election as Chairman."
I looked at Sarah. "Will that affect Richard?"
"Richard's entire corporate identity rests on his family's reputation for financial integrity," Sarah said coldly. "If his fellow board members learn that his wife forged contracts to steal nineteen thousand dollars from her prospective daughter-in-law to cover personal debts, Richard's corporate career is over before Friday."
"Do it," I said.
By noon, the demand letter was dispatched via special courier to the Whitmore estate in the historic district of Richmond.
Two hours later, my phone began vibrating continuously.
Daniel tried calling six times. Patricia tried three times. Then came a series of text messages from Daniel:
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Emily please call me! Mom is losing her mind! You sent a process server to the house? Dad found out about the extra twenty-six thousand from our joint account. He’s threatening to divorce her! You’re destroying my family over a mistake! Please, let’s sit down and talk like adults!
I looked at the messages, felt absolutely nothing, and blocked his number.
