Chapter 5 - COUNTING THE SPOILS
By sunset, the estate was entirely silent.
The caterers had packed up their untouched trays of sushi and caviar. The security guards had cleared out the lingering guests, many of whom had already posted recorded videos of the scene onto social media, where the hashtag #GreenwichFraudster was already trending locally.
Inside the grand double-height library of the mansion, light streamed through thirty-foot stained-glass windows, illuminating floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves.
I sat on a velvet sofa, wrapped in a soft cashmere throw that my grandfather’s assistant had brought me. Caleb was fast asleep on the far end of the couch, exhausted from the day’s journey, breathing peacefully under a warm blanket.
My grandfather sat across from me, sipping hot tea while his legal team laid out stacks of financial ledgers across a massive oak desk.
"It's worse than we initially thought, Allison," Sterling, the lead attorney, said, sliding a spreadsheet toward me. "Derek didn't just live here rent-free. He actively exploited the trust’s open credit facilities."
I scanned the rows of numbers:
$2.4 Million drawn from the trust’s emergency property improvement fund (used to buy high-end foreign sports cars registered under shell names).
$850,000 converted into offshore liquid assets in the Cayman Islands.
$400,000 spent on luxury retail, fine dining, and jewelry purchases—including the engagement ring he had bought for Chloe Vance.
$120,000 systematically stolen from the personal bank account my mother had left me, which Derek had managed to access using forged power-of-attorney documents while I was under anesthesia after my emergency C-section.
"He drained everything he could get his hands on," I murmured, feeling a cold knot form in my stomach. "And all the while, he sent me fifty dollars a week for groceries, telling me we were broke."
"He was trying to keep you below the poverty line so you wouldn't have the legal resources or mobility to question him," Walter said, his voice laced with pure rage. "A isolated victim is an obedient victim. He knew that as long as you were struggling to feed Caleb in Albany, you would never have the time or energy to hire an attorney or visit Connecticut."
"How did he think he would get away with it forever?" I asked.
"He didn't need forever," Sterling explained. "His engagement to Chloe Vance was his exit strategy. Chloe’s father was planning to invest fifteen million dollars into Derek’s fake investment firm next month. With that money, Derek planned to reimburse the trust’s primary accounts, file for a quiet divorce from you in absentia using fake service-of-process documents, and leave you in Albany permanently."
I stared out the window at the sprawling gardens below. The sun was setting, casting long, golden shadows across the stone fountains.
"What happens to the estate now?" I asked softly.
Walter stood up, walking over to stand beside my chair. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"The estate is yours, Allison. It has always been yours. The trust is completely intact—the stolen funds were intercepted before Derek could liquidate the core capital. Tomorrow, my legal team will file for full legal and physical custody of Caleb, an immediate annulment of your marriage on the grounds of fraud, and criminal restitution demands that will seize every asset Derek and Lorraine ever possessed."
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He looked down at me, his blue eyes clear and fierce.
"You will never wash clothes by hand again, my sweet girl. You will never dilute milk. You will finish your business degree, you will take your rightful seat on the board of Harrington Healthcare, and you will show these parasites what happens when you cross a mother who has nothing left to lose."
