Chapter 3 - The Threat of the Cold
Aunt Patricia dropped to her knees on the hardwood floor, her elegant Thanksgiving outfit dragging through the dust near the table leg. She reached out toward Grandma, her face smeared with tears and running makeup.
“Mother, please! The business was collapsing! If Robert went under, we would have lost this house! We would have been ruined! We always intended to give the money back to Clara the moment the market recovered!”
“You chose a house over a human life, Patricia,” Grandma said, pulling her skirt back so her daughter couldn't touch her fabric. “You chose a lifestyle over an infant child. Do you have any idea what the criminal penalty for grand larceny and wire fraud is in the state of Colorado?”
Uncle Robert stepped forward, his expression shifting from panic to an ugly, defensive arrogance. “Don't threaten us with jail, Margaret. If you call the police, this entire family goes down in the papers. The Whitmore name will be dragged through the mud. The corporate stock will take a hit the moment the press finds out your daughter is being audited for fraud. You won't risk the company over $180,000. It’s pocket change to you.”
Grandma let out a short, cold laugh that made the room turn to ice.
“You think I care about the stock price when my great-granddaughter is wrapped in a tattered blanket, Robert?” Grandma stood up, leaning her hands flat against the mahogany table, towering over him. “I built that company with my late husband from a single warehouse in Boston. I have survived recessions, corporate raiders, and family tragedies. If you think the Whitmore name is a shield for your petty thievery, you are gravely mistaken.”
She turned to Richard. “File the formal criminal complaints with the Denver District Attorney’s office right now. I want the warrants issued before the holiday weekend is over.”
“Margaret, wait!” my mother, Denise, screamed, finally jumping out of her chair. She ran over to me, grabbing my shoulder with a frantic, desperate grip. “Clara, tell her to stop! If Patricia goes to prison, what happens to our family? Think about the holidays! Think about what people will say at the club!”
I looked up at my mother, the woman who hadn't called me in three months, the woman who had spent the last two years attending charity galas while I worked two shifts at a diner just to afford a reliable car seat for Lily.
“You didn't care about what people said when I was living on food stamps, Mom,” I said, pulling away from her grip with a cold, unshakeable finality. “You didn't care about the family when you forgot Lily’s first Christmas because you were on a cruise with Patricia. Grandma is right. They deserve everything that's coming to them.”
“Clara, you ungrateful little brat!” Patricia shrieked from the floor, her tears turning to pure venom. “We took you in when you were nothing! Your father left you with nothing, and your husband left you with a parasite! We are the only reason you even have a family name!”
The word parasite hadn't even fully left Patricia’s mouth before Grandma’s hand came down against the table with a sound like a gunshot.
“Richard,” Grandma ordered, her voice vibrating with an authority that left the entire room breathless. “Add identity theft, malicious forgery, and corporate extortion to the filing. And execute the immediate foreclosure paperwork on Robert’s commercial properties. I own the primary debt notes on his development group through my holding company. Effective at five o'clock tonight, I am calling the loans due in full.”
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Uncle Robert stumbled back as if he had been physically struck. “You can't do that... that will bankrupt me within twenty-four hours.”
“Then you had better find a very good public defender, Robert,” Grandma said, turning her back on him completely. “Because by tomorrow morning, you won't even own the shoes on your feet.”
