Chapter 3 - The Mask Slips
When someone gets caught red-handed, they usually do one of two things: they break down and beg for mercy, or they show you who they really were all along. Lauren didn't cry. Instead, the terrified, dutiful daughter-in-law dissolved entirely, replaced by a cold, spiteful sneer.
She dropped her purse onto my radiator with a dull thud. “Fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “You want to play forensic accountant, Arthur? Let’s talk about reality.”
Jared looked at her as if she had just grown fangs. “Lauren, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying your father was an anchor around our necks from day one!” she hissed, pointing a sharp, red-tipped nail directly at my chest. “Diane left that trust money behind, but who built your company, Jared? Who spent weekends entertaining your partners? Who managed your brand? I did! Why should nearly a hundred grand a year go to an old man who sits in an armchair waiting to die when that capital could double our portfolio?”
“It wasn't your money!” Jared roared, slamming his fist onto the wall. A small crack split through the cheap drywall. “It was my mother’s life insurance and her family estate! It was explicitly left to take care of my father until his last breath! You stole nearly three hundred thousand dollars from him!”
“I borrowed it,” she replied smoothly, though her eyes were wild. “And by law, as your spouse and the trustee of your joint marital estate, I had fiduciary discretion.”
“You forged his signature, Lauren,” I said, pointing at the bottom of the power of attorney form. “You took a document my Diane signed when she was dying in hospice care and you altered the beneficiary clause. That isn’t discretionary power. That’s grand larceny.”
Lauren’s arrogant expression faltered for a fraction of a second before hardening into pure venom. “You can’t prove that in court, Arthur. You can’t afford a lawyer who can match mine. Jared, you take one legal step against me, and I take half of everything you own in a divorce. The firm, the house, the cars. Try me.”
She turned on her heel, ripped the door open, and slammed it behind her so hard the glass pane rattled.
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Jared didn't chase her. He collapsed onto my wobbly wooden chair, buried his face in his hands, and wept like a broken child.
***
