Chapter 6 - The Trap at the Gallery
The news of Willamina’s offshore transfer acted like a grenade dropped inside the Thorn family dynamic.
Within twenty-four hours, Barnaby received a frantic call from Julian Sterling, Grantham’s attorney. Grantham had confronted his sister at her Oakwood home, resulting in a screaming match so loud that neighbors had called the police. Grantham realized that while he was facing criminal forgery charges and financial ruin to support his sister, Willamina had been planning to leave him holding the debt while she fled to Europe.
On Thursday evening, Barnaby summoned me to his office for a strategy session.
"Julian Sterling is desperate," Barnaby explained, tossing a settlement offer onto the desk. "Grantham is ready to turn state's evidence against Willamina regarding the forged equity line if the district attorney agrees to reduce his charges to misprision of a felony with probation."
"What about the money he stole from me?" I asked.
"He's offering to sign over his entire share of his father's trust fund—which vests next year—plus his retirement account from the architecture firm," Barnaby said. "It covers ninety-five percent of the two hundred and eighty-four thousand dollars."
I leaned back in my chair. "And Willamina?"
"Willamina is trying to liquidate her boutique's remaining high-end inventory through a private, cash-only flash sale at an art gallery in Downtown Raleigh tomorrow night," Barnaby revealed with a cold grin. "She's trying to raise enough cash to buy a one-way ticket to Costa Rica before the federal fraud indictment is formally handed down."
"A cash sale?" I asked.
"She advertised it privately to her high-society contacts," Barnaby said. "She's selling off antique jewelry, estate silver, and European oil paintings—much of which was originally purchased using the funds Grantham stole from your account."
I looked at Barnaby, a slow, calculated plan taking shape in my mind.
"Is the Wake County Sheriff's Department aware of this sale?" I asked.
"They weren't," Barnaby smiled. "But they will be when we file an emergency Asset Seizure Writ at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
"No," I said, leaning forward. "Don't file it at eight AM. Let her set up the event. Let her invite all of Raleigh high society—all the women who looked down on my father's business, all the board members from the Historic Preservation Society who listened to Finanella brag about her family's heritage."
Barnaby’s eyes lit up with deep appreciation. "You want the writ executed during the event."
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"I want her to be standing in the middle of that gallery, holding her champagne glass, when the sheriff seals the doors and seizes every piece of inventory for public auction," I said. "I want her to see her 'place in this family' defined in front of everyone whose opinion she ever cared about."
Barnaby pulled out his gold pen and made a note on his pad. "I will personally coordinate with the Sheriff's Asset Forfeiture Division. Wear something nice tomorrow night, Cecelia."
