Chapter 5 - The Midnight Inventory
By 12:15 AM, the bridge club ladies had fled out the front door into the snow, wrapping their fur coats tightly around themselves as they scrambled into their luxury sedans and sped away into the night, leaving Marlene’s social standing in absolute ruins.
Inside the grand living room, however, the real inventory was just beginning.
Arthur Vance sat at the dining table with his laptop open, while the two county deputies stood guard near the front door to ensure no property was illegally removed from the premises.
Jason had managed to pull on a sweater and jeans, stumbling down the stairs with his face flushed red, his voice shaking between panic and incoherent rage.
"This is unconstitutional!" Jason roared, slamming his fist against the doorframe. "You can't just throw us out into the snow at midnight! We have rights! We’re going to sue you, Arthur! We’ll sue the estate, we’ll sue Clara—"
"Sue with what money, Jason?" Arthur asked calmly, not even looking up from his screen. "As of midnight, all corporate cards, personal checking accounts, and subsidiary credit lines linked to the Vance-Henderson holdings have been frozen by federal order. Your bank accounts currently hold a combined balance of twelve dollars and forty cents."
Jason’s face went slack. He looked at his mother, who had collapsed onto the sofa, staring blankly at the wall with her mouth open, finally realizing the full, catastrophic extent of her financial ruin.
"Twelve... twelve dollars?" Jason whispered, his knees buckling slightly as he gripped the back of an armchair. "That's... that's impossible. We had millions! We had investments!"
"You had embezzlement schemes," I corrected, walking over to the fireplace and resting my hand against the warm stone mantel. "For three years, Marlene has been writing checks to fictional subcontractors and laundering the money through a fake catering company to fund your gambling debts and her country club dues. I have the bank statements, the canceled checks, and the digital audit logs right here."
I pulled a pristine flash drive from my pocket and placed it gently on the coffee table beside Jason’s discarded phone.
Jason stared at the small piece of plastic as if it were a venomous snake.
"You... you spied on us?" he hissed, his eyes bloodshot and wild.
"I audited you," I corrected smoothly. "There is a distinct difference. Spying implies you were trying to hide something important. Auditing is simply counting the garbage people leave out in the open when they assume nobody else is paying attention."
Arthur Vance closed his laptop with a sharp click that echoed off the high ceiling. He stood up, buttoned his suit jacket, and looked at the deputies.
"Gentlemen," Arthur said, his voice ringing with official authority. "The legal occupants have until 8:00 AM to remove their personal clothing and toiletries from the premises. Any attempt to remove furniture, art, electronics, or vehicle titles will be logged as grand larceny. I suggest you both start packing."
Jason looked like a man who had just been told he was standing on the edge of a collapsing cliff. He turned his desperate, pleading eyes toward me—the sister he had mocked, belittled, and watched his stepmother slap across the face just fourteen hours earlier.
"Clara..." Jason whimpered, taking a hesitant step forward, his voice cracking. "Clara, please. We’re family. We grew up in this house. You can't just make us homeless on a snowy night. Talk to Arthur. Tell him we can work something out... a wing of the house, an allowance..."
I looked at him—at the man who had laughed when Marlene smashed my laptop, the man who had watched without a word while I was treated like a trespasser under my own father's roof.
"When Marlene slapped me today," I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, terrifying register that made even the deputies take a half-step back, "and when you told me to be useful for once... did you think about family?"
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Jason opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat worked convulsively, his eyes swimming with desperate, unmanly tears.
"You had fourteen hours to pack your bags, Jason," I said, turning my back on him and walking toward the grand entryway. "I suggest you use them wisely."
