Chapter 8 - The Holloway Family Meltdown
By 1:00 PM, the storm had moved from the street into my private sanctuary.
Julian and I had relocated to my family's historic estate on Franklin Road—a two-hundred-year-old limestone manor that had never, under any circumstances, carried the Holloway name. It was the Arden family seat, fortified by iron gates, private security patrols, and high brick walls.
The intercom at the front gate buzzed frantically.
"Mrs. Arden," the gatehouse guard spoke through the speaker. "There is a white Mercedes sedan blocking the entrance. A Mrs. Evelyn Holloway and a young woman identifying herself as Taryn Holloway are demanding entry. They are... extremely agitated."
"Patch their vehicle audio to my desk," I instructed.
The speaker clicked, and the roar of Evelyn’s hysteria filled the library.
"—this is our family property!" Evelyn was screaming at the gatehouse attendant. "My son married that ungrateful orphan! Everything she has belongs to Grant by marriage! Open this gate right now, or I will have the governor on the phone! We know people!"
"Mom, shut up and let me record!" Taryn’s voice cut in, sharp and frantic. "Natalie! Look at your phone! I’m going live right now! I have the video from the restaurant! I have three hundred thousand followers and they are going to tear you apart! I’ll tell everyone you set Grant up! I’ll tell them you’re a sociopath!"
I opened my laptop on the walnut desk. Taryn's face appeared on my screen, streaming live from the driver’s seat of her leased Mercedes. The comments were scrolling at lightning speed.
"Julian," I said calmly. "Execute the cease-and-desist injunction from Judge Albright. And send the secondary packet to the district attorney."
"Already dispatched," Julian said, checking his tablet.
I pressed the two-way button on the gate intercom.
"Taryn," I spoke into the microphone.
The girl paused, her eyes darting toward the stone speaker pillar outside her window. "Natalie? Open this damn gate!"
"Taryn, before you tell your three hundred thousand followers about my birthday dinner, you might want to refresh your personal tax portal."
She froze. "What?"
"You claimed ninety-four business deductions last year for private jet charters, designer handbags, and European vacations, claiming they were 'influencer business expenses' for your boutique," I said, my voice smooth and deliberate. "Unfortunately, since Arden Capital was the primary underwriter of that LLC, I was legally obligated to report those discrepancies to the Internal Revenue Service during this morning’s audit."
Taryn went dead white. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"The federal tax lien against you personally is four hundred and twelve thousand dollars," I added. "And your live stream is currently recording your confession that you're driving a vehicle registered to a dissolved company. If you aren't off my driveway in sixty seconds, the county sheriff—who is currently waiting at the end of the lane—will impound the car and arrest you both for criminal stalking."
Through the gate camera, I saw Evelyn's face contort into sheer terror. She grabbed Taryn's arm, shaking her violently.
"Drive!" Evelyn shrieked, her voice audible even through the reinforced glass. "Taryn, turn the car around! Drive!"
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The white Mercedes threw gravel into the air as it reversed frantically down the private road, nearly clipping the limestone pillars before speeding toward the highway.
***
