Chapter 5 - The Shyster's Ledger
With Sterling’s signed confession in my briefcase, I had the medical flank secured. But the real weapon Meredith held was the legal architecture created by Derrick Hollis.
Hollis was a notorious estate-planning attorney who operated out of a high-rise office overlooking the Virginia State Capitol. He was smooth, predatory, and specialized in helping trust-fund sociopaths strip assets from vulnerable family members through legal loopholes and aggressive probate maneuvering.
At 2:15 P.M., I walked into the offices of *Hollis & Partners*.
Unlike Dr. Sterling, Hollis wasn't easily rattled. When his receptionist buzzed him, he invited me into his wood-paneled corner office with a smug, arrogant grin.
"Agent Whitcomb," Hollis said, leaning back in his executive leather chair, twirling an unlit cigar. "I received a rather hysterical phone call from your sister-in-law this morning. I must say, utilizing federal intimidation tactics against a grieving, exhausted family caregiver is a rather dangerous career choice for an active FBI agent."
I sat down across from him, crossing my legs, looking entirely relaxed. "Is that your professional legal opinion, Mr. Hollis?"
"It is," he chuckled, tapping the desk. "Let me educate you on Virginia probate law, Agent Whitcomb. Your father executed a valid durable power of attorney and healthcare proxy fourteen months ago. I personally supervised the signing. It was notarized, witnessed, and filed. Tomorrow morning, Judge Albright will review Dr. Sterling’s initial medical evaluation, confirm your father’s recent violent incident at the police station, and grant my client full conservatorship. Once that happens, you won't even have the legal right to visit him without Meredith's permission."
"You mean this evaluation from Dr. Sterling?" I asked, pulling out a crisp white sheet of paper and sliding it across his desk.
Hollis glanced down casually, but as his eyes scanned the text, his smirk vanished.
It was the sworn affidavit Sterling had signed two hours earlier, complete with the physician's confession that Hollis had helped draft the exact language of the fraudulent mental competency report to ensure Judge Albright wouldn't ask questions.
"Sterling is a coward," Hollis muttered, tossing the paper aside, though a bead of sweat had formed at his hairline. "A single recanted statement doesn't invalidate a legal trust, Agent Whitcomb. My client still holds the power of attorney."
"Let’s talk about the trust, then," I said, leaning forward.
I pulled out a second stack of documents—Marcus Vance’s financial audit.
"Aegis Asset Management," I said. "A Delaware shell company used to funnel $3.2 million from my father’s commercial accounts into an offshore account at First Caribbean International Bank. Guess whose signature appears on the incorporation paperwork alongside Meredith’s?"
Hollis’s eyes narrowed into slits.
"You didn't just act as her attorney, Derrick," I said softly. "You took a fifteen percent fee on every fraudulent transfer. You laundered stolen funds through your firm's IOLTA escrow account before wiring them offshore. That’s not aggressive estate planning. That is money laundering under Title 18, Section 1956."
Hollis tried to sneer, but his voice was tight. "You’re bluffing. You can’t get federal subpoenas on my escrow accounts without a grand jury."
"I don't need a grand jury to file a suspicious activity report with FinCEN," I whispered. "And when the Department of Justice sees that an attorney with three previous bar complaints is moving millions in elder assets into an account linked to his own offshore corporation? The grand jury will take about forty-five seconds to return an indictment."
I stood up, buttoning my blazer.
"Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, Meredith is going to stand in front of Judge Albright expecting you to present her petition for conservatorship. If you show up in that courtroom and utter a single word in support of that fraudulent petition, Marcus Vance and four IRS Criminal Investigation agents will be waiting in the gallery to serve you with an immediate asset freeze and a federal warrant."
Hollis swallowed hard. His face had turned a sickly shade of gray.
"What are my options?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
"You withdraw your representation immediately," I said. "You leave Meredith Whitcomb completely alone to walk into that courtroom tomorrow morning thinking she still has your backing. And you turn over every original document my father ever signed in this office before 5:00 P.M. today."
May you like
Hollis stared at the desk for five long seconds. Then, slowly, he opened his drawer, pulled out a thick leather portfolio stamped with my father’s initials, and pushed it across the mahogany wood.
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