Chapter 3 - Healing and Hiding
The weeks following the arrest were a blur of sterile hospital walls, grueling physical therapy, and intense legal preparations. The orthopedic surgeon had to insert a titanium plate and six screws into my right forearm to reconstruct the shattered bone. The physical pain was a constant companion, but it served as a daily reminder of why I could not afford to show an ounce of weakness.
I relocated to a secure, gated condominium in downtown San Francisco, a property owned by Ana Brennan’s firm. No one knew I was there except for Ana and Detective Vance.
One rainy afternoon, Ana entered the condo, carrying a thick stack of manila folders and a hot cup of chamomile tea. She placed the tea in front of me and sat down, her expression grim.
"How is the arm feeling today, Alana?" she asked gently.
"It throbs when it rains, but the therapist says I'm regaining mobility faster than expected," I replied, tracing the long, angry red scar running down my forearm. "What's the status of the case?"
Ana sighed, opening the top folder. "Your father’s defense team is pulling out every dirty trick in the book. They’ve managed to secure a high-profile criminal defense attorney, Richard Sterling. He’s already petitioning the judge to suppress the video evidence from your brooch, claiming it violates California’s wiretapping laws regarding expectation of privacy in a private residence."
I frowned, my grip tightening on my tea mug. "But it was my residence, too. And they were committing a violent felony. Doesn't that negate the privacy expectation?"
"Legally, yes, and Detective Vance is fighting hard to keep it admissible," Ana explained. "But Sterling is also trying to get Mark released on bail. He's arguing that Mark is a prominent businessman with deep ties to the community and poses no flight risk. If the judge grants bail, your father will be free within forty-eight hours."
"And Yasmin and Gillian?"
"They were released on bond yesterday," Ana said quietly.
A chill ran down my spine. "They're out?"
"Yes. But they are under a strict restraining order. They cannot come within five hundred feet of you, your properties, or Ana Brennan's offices. However, we both know how much Mark's associates respect the law. Yasmin has already been spotted meeting with several board members of the Darcy Land Trust."
The Darcy Land Trust was the crown jewel of my grandmother’s estate. It held the rights to the Sonoma agave ranch, which was currently valued at tens of millions of dollars due to a newly discovered natural spring on the property. My grandmother had left me 60% of the trust's voting shares, leaving Mark with only 10% and the remaining 30% split among minor stakeholders.
"They want the agave ranch," I muttered, realizing their strategy. "If they can't get the properties through the transfer papers, they'll try to stage a hostile takeover of the trust while I'm recovering."
"Exactly," Ana agreed. "And with you legally incapacitated or hiding, they will argue that the trust is leaderless, allowing Mark's allies on the board to vote for a forced sale of the land."
I stood up, ignoring the sharp pain in my arm. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the foggy San Francisco skyline.
"We need to strike first," I said, my voice steady and cold. "My grandmother didn't just leave me land, Ana. She left me her personal journals. She kept detailed records of every bribe, every offshore account, and every illegal transaction Mark and Yasmin made over the last fifteen years."
May you like
Ana’s eyes widened. "Abigail kept those? Where are they?"
"In a safety deposit box at a private bank in Sonoma," I said, turning to face her. "We need to get them before Yasmin realizes they exist. If we can expose their financial crimes, we won't just win this inheritance dispute—we will ruin them forever."
