Chapter 2 - The General’s CounselThe rain lashed against the windows of my temporary quarters—a modest, sparsely furnished apartment just outside the naval base gates—while the glow of three high-resolution monitors illuminated the dark room.
On the center screen, the live feed from the villa’s hidden security nodes played on a continuous, looping loop.
“...We filed the papers, Commander. Your signature transferred the property into a family trust...”
Grant’s voice echoed clearly through the audio monitors, crisp and damning.
My phone buzzed on the scarred wooden desk. I picked it up immediately. It was Marcus Vance.
“I’m looking at the telemetry feed from the estate server, El,” Marcus’s deep, measured voice came through the encrypted line. “Audio and video are pristine. The metadata timestamps are locked with military-grade encryption. They didn't just walk into a trap; they practically built the cage and locked the door themselves.”
“How long until the civil injunction and criminal referral hit their desks?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my tired eyes.
“Drafted and ready,” Marcus replied with a low, appreciative chuckle. “Because the property was transferred using a forged power-of-attorney while you were on active federal deployment overseas, this crosses the line from a civil dispute straight into federal felony territory. Interstate wire fraud, forgery of government-registered instruments, and elder financial exploitation since your father signed as the primary trustee using doctored medical waivers. We aren't just going to repossess the villa, Elena. We are going to strip them down to the bare studs.”
“I don’t want it to be quick, Marcus,” I said, my voice cold and flat as the winter sea. “They spent twelve years making me feel like an outsider in my own family, smiling while they drained my accounts and treated my achievements like footnotes to Grant’s mediocre corporate career. Let them settle in. Let Maribel hang her art on the walls. Let Grant buy his expensive furniture. Let them feel completely safe and untouchable.”
“When do you want the hammer to drop?” Marcus asked.
May you like
“Three days,” I said. “On Friday morning, right when Grant is scheduled to host his regional corporate board dinner at the house to show off his new ‘estate.’ Let the board of directors see the federal marshals serve the eviction notice at the front gates.”
“Consider it done, Commander,” Marcus murmured. “Enjoy the quiet before the storm.”
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