Chapter 6 - The Cracks in the Facade
Patricia gasped, her eyes darting frantically toward her husband. "Julian... what is he talking about? What trust fund?"
"He's lying!" Julian stammered, his voice jumping an entire octave, his face flushing crimson. "He's bluffing, Patricia! He's just trying to turn us against each other because he's a cheap bastard who won't share with his own nephew!"
"I have the withdrawal receipts, Julian," Daniel said, his voice entirely calm, entirely lethal. "I have the forged signatures from First Heritage Trust. I have the certified letters. And more importantly..."
Daniel pulled his phone from his pocket, turned the screen around, and tapped play.
The speakers of Daniel’s phone blasted Julian’s own voice from the garden recording:
*"...It’s an IRS audit notification! They know the business has zero revenue! They’re going to trace the payroll deposits directly back to the trust account you set up! ... Mom, this mic is directional! It records everything within thirty feet!"*
Julian’s jaw hung open. He looked as if all the oxygen had been vacuumed out of the atmosphere.
Patricia stared at her husband, horror dawning across her features. "Julian... you told me that money was a private loan from an investor! You told me your logistics startup had venture capital! You stole from Valentina?"
"Patricia, shut up! Shut up!" Julian screamed, losing all composure. He lunged forward, trying to grab Daniel’s phone right out of his hand.
"Give me that phone!"
Daniel didn't even have to swing. He stepped back smoothly, caught Julian by the collar of his leather jacket, and shoved him backward with enough force that Julian stumbled off the porch, landing flat on his back in the wet front lawn.
"Get off my property," Daniel said, pointing down the driveway. "Before I call the police and have you arrested for criminal trespass right in front of your son."
Mateo backed away toward the SUV, tears welling in his teenage eyes. "Dad... please. Let's just go. Please."
Julian scrambled to his feet, mud staining the back of his jacket and jeans. He was shaking, hyperventilating, looking like a cornered animal that had run out of tricks.
"You're dead, Daniel," Julian spat, pointing a trembling, dirt-caked finger at the porch. "Mom will never let this stand. You think you're smart? You think you're untouchable? Mom controls the family. She controls Dad. She controls everyone! You will be completely alone!"
"We'll see about that on Sunday," Daniel said.
Julian froze. "What?"
"Tell Mother we’ll be at her house for the Sunday family dinner," Daniel said with a grim, chilling smile. "Tell her to set three extra plates. We have a family movie we'd like to screen for everyone."
Without waiting for an answer, Daniel pulled the heavy wooden door shut and locked the deadbolt with a solid, echoing *thud*.
Through the side window, we watched Julian scream at Patricia in the driveway. Patricia shoved him away, climbed into the passenger seat, and slammed the door. Julian kicked my front lawn sprinkler, cursed at the sky, and sped out of our cul-de-sac, his tires screeching violently against the asphalt.
I turned to Daniel. My knees were shaking so hard I had to lean against the wall for support.
"Sunday dinner?" I whispered. "Daniel, you're going into the lion's den. She's going to rally the entire extended family against us. You know how she works. By tonight, Aunt Clara, Uncle Robert, and all your cousins will think we attacked Julian and made Valentina cry."
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"Let her rally them," Daniel said, picking up his phone and dialing Mark Sterling. "The bigger the audience, Elena... the harder the fall."
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