Chapter 6 - The Retainer
At 1:30 PM that afternoon, I sat in the 42nd-floor office of Vance & Montgomery, a high-powered litigation firm in downtown Houston overlooking the winding ribbon of Buffalo Bayou.
Across from me sat Marcus Vance.
Marcus was forty-five, wore a bespoke three-piece navy suit that cost more than my first car, and had a reputation in Texas legal circles as a certified pit bull. He didn't handle messy, emotional family divorces; he handled corporate embezzlement, asset concealment, and white-collar fraud. He was the man energy executives called when their business partners tried to steal fifteen million dollars out of an operating account.
I had worked with Marcus two years ago on an internal forensic audit for my firm. He knew I was methodical, he knew I didn't exaggerate, and most importantly, he knew I understood the law.
Marcus finished reading the file I had handed him, closed the manila folder with a crisp thud, and laced his fingers together over his blotter.
"Claire," he said, his gray eyes gleaming with the sharp, predatory interest of a trial lawyer who smelled blood. "This isn't just a garden-variety domestic dispute. This is remarkably stupid, brazen criminal conduct."
"That’s my family," I replied dryly. "Subtlety has never been their strong suit."
Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Let’s break down what they actually did here. Your mother used electronic credentials to breach an account she had no legal authority to touch. That’s unauthorized access to a protected financial system—a federal violation under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act. Then she moved twenty thousand dollars across institutional lines—that’s federal wire fraud. Then your sister accepted those funds into an LLC account and immediately converted them into a tangible asset—a vehicle—knowing the source of the funds was illegitimate. That’s interstate transport of fraudulently obtained property and statutory money laundering under Texas penal code."
He leaned back, tapping his gold Montblanc pen against the desk. "They didn't just cross a civil line, Claire. They handed the Harris County District Attorney and the Montgomery County Sheriff a textbook felony indictment on a silver platter."
"What are my vulnerabilities?" I asked, cutting straight to the analytical core. "Can they claim implied consent? Can they argue that because I supported Marissa in the past—paying her rent, giving her money—that she had a reasonable expectation of financial support?"
"Not a chance," Marcus said firmly. "Implied consent applies to a shared dinner bill or borrowing a lawnmower. It does not apply to a twenty-thousand-dollar electronic wire transfer executed via a midnight password reset using compromised security questions. Furthermore, Texas doesn't recognize 'family harmony' as an affirmative defense to bank fraud."
He stood up, walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked out over the sprawling Houston skyline.
"Here is what we do," Marcus said, turning back to me. "First, I am filing an immediate Petition for an Ex Parte Temporary Restraining Order in Montgomery County District Court. We are freezing the LLC account of Marissa Bennett Creative, freezing the vehicle title with the Texas Department of Motor Vehicles, and serving a formal Notice of Lis Pendens against any assets held by your parents."
"Can we touch their house?" I asked.
"Texas homestead laws protect their primary residence from civil judgments," Marcus explained. "However, your father’s personal bank accounts, his retirement accounts that aren't ERISA-qualified, and any personal property—like that sixty-inch television you mentioned he bought with your radiator money—are entirely fair game once we secure a judgment."
"And the criminal side?"
"I will personally hand-deliver this dossier to Detective Alvarez in the Financial Crimes Division of the Montgomery County Sheriff's Office," Marcus said with a cold smile. "Alvarez is an old friend of mine. He hates identity thieves. He especially hates identity thieves who steal from their own children to buy European luxury cars."
He walked back to his desk, pulled out a retainer agreement, and slid it toward me.
"My retainer is five thousand dollars, Claire. It’s steep, but I promise you, by the time I am done with them, they will pay every single dime of my legal fees under the Texas Civil Practice and Remedies Code for frivolous and bad-faith conduct."
I didn't blink. I pulled out my checkbook—the one linked to my untouched, secure primary checking account—and wrote out a check for five thousand dollars.
"Make them bleed, Marcus," I said softly.
May you like
Marcus took the check, looked at the signature, and smiled. "Claire, my dear... I’m going to make them wish they had eaten that barbecue sauce off the floor."
***
