Chapter 7 - The Trap set at Sunset
Z
By Sunday afternoon, the tension inside our home was thick enough to choke on. Laurel had done an incredible job playing the role of the broken, defeated wife. When Karen called her on Saturday night to gloat and demand an apology, Laurel spoke in a timid, weeping tone, pretending to be terrified of CPS.
It was a masterclass in deception. Julian and Darlene completely took the bait.
At 6:00 PM, a black SUV pulled up to our house.
Out stepped Darlene, dressed in a stunning navy-blue coat, her head held high like a queen returning to reclaim her stolen throne. Beside her was Julian, holding his leather briefcase, looking as smug as a wolf entering a sheep pen. Behind them was my sister, Karen, who had flown in from Atlanta specifically to watch me bow my head in shame.
I opened the front door and stood aside, letting them enter.
Darlene stepped into the foyer, looking around the living room with an air of immense superiority. She didn't look at me. She didn't check on my burned shoulder. She simply wiped her shoes on the rug and sniffed the air.
"It smells like disinfectant," Darlene remarked snidely. "At least Laurel finally learned how to scrub the floors properly."
Karen sneered at me. "You look terrible, Everett. That's what you get for betraying your own blood for a hysterical girl."
"Let's get down to business," Julian said smoothly, walking past me straight into the dining room. He unzipped his briefcase and laid the blue legal folder on the glass table. "We have the agreement ready. Everett, you sign on page twelve. Laurel signs on page fourteen. Once that's done, Aunt Darlene's bags are in the trunk. We move her back into the guest suite, and I personally notify CPS that the complaint has been resolved."
I walked into the dining room and stood at the head of the table. Laurel came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of ice water. Her hands were still lightly bandaged, but her posture was no longer slouched. She stood straight, her eyes clear and sharp.
Julian noticed the change in her demeanor and frowned slightly. "Laurel. Take a seat. Let's finish this."
"Where is Uncle Richard?" I asked calmly, ignoring the pen Julian held out to me.
Julian scoffed. "My father is a busy man. He doesn't need to be here for a domestic settlement."
"That's a shame," I replied, pulling out my phone. "Because I invited him."
As if on cue, the heavy front door opened again.
In walked Uncle Richard—a broad, silver-haired man in his late sixties, the CEO of Vance Enterprises and the patriarch of my mother's side of the family. He looked tired and thoroughly annoyed.
"What is the meaning of this, Julian?" Richard barked, walking into the dining room. "You told me Everett was signing a surrender agreement regarding the Cary house equity. Why did Everett's lawyer send an emergency summons to my executive team an hour ago?"
Julian's face went completely pale. "What? Everett doesn't have a lawyer!"
"He didn't on Friday," a sharp, clear voice called out from the hallway.
A woman in a sharp navy-blue pantsuit stepped into the room. It was Sarah Vance—no relation to Richard, but one of the most feared forensic accountants and federal financial attorneys in North Carolina.
Darlene stood up, her arrogant composure suddenly cracking. "Everett! What is this madness?! Who is this woman?!"
"Julian," Attorney Sarah Vance said, stepping up to the table and setting down a stack of printed, court-certified financial logs. "You might want to advise your client—and yourself—to remain completely silent."
"This is private family business!" Karen yelled, stepping forward defensively. "Get out of my brother's house!"
"Shut up, Karen!" I barked, my voice echoing off the walls.
I looked directly at Uncle Richard. "Uncle Richard, do you know why Darlene was so eager to move into my house a year ago?"
Richard frowned, looking between Darlene and Julian. "She said she was lonely. She said you asked her to help raise Maisie."
"She was broke," I said plainly. "She had lost three hundred thousand dollars on bad real estate deals in Charlotte. And to cover her tracks before you audited the family trust, she made a deal with your son, Julian."
"That's a lie!" Darlene screamed, her voice cracking into a shriek. "He's making it up! Laurel forced him to say this!"
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"Is it a lie, Julian?" Attorney Vance asked, sliding a document across the table directly to Uncle Richard. "That is the paper trail showing three hundred thousand dollars wired from Darlene’s account directly into Vance Capital Holdings—a dummy corporation registered under Julian Vance's personal tax ID."
Uncle Richard took the document. As his eyes scanned the lines of text, the color slowly drained from his face, replaced by an explosive, violent rage.
