Chapter 3 - The Hawthorne Fortune
The next morning, the local newspapers headline read: Socialite Vivian Hawthorne Arrested for Arson at Son’s Wedding. The story went viral on Facebook within hours. A local blogger had captured a video of Vivian being placed into the back of a police cruiser, screaming about her social status. The public reaction was swift and merciless.
Matthew and I spent the night at a small, unassuming hotel in downtown Charlottesville. We hadn’t officially married yet—the ceremony had been postponed indefinitely while the police processed the crime scene—but we felt more bonded than ever.
As we sat in the hotel lobby drinking coffee, Matthew’s phone rang continuously. It was his former colleagues, friends from the country club, and representatives from the Hawthorne family wealth management firm. By noon, Arthur Hawthorne had made good on his threat. Matthew’s bank accounts were frozen under the guise of "joint family asset reviews," and he was officially suspended from his position as a junior partner at his father’s law firm.
"He really did it," Matthew whispered, staring at his laptop screen. "He took everything. I have about twelve hundred dollars in my personal checking account that he couldn't touch."
I placed my hand over his. "Matthew, look at me. When I was in Afghanistan, we lived out of rucksacks. We ate MREs and slept on the dirt. You don't need a trust fund to be a man. You have a law degree from UVA. You’re brilliant. You can get a job anywhere."
"I know," he smiled faintly. "It’s just... strange seeing how fast they cast me out just because I wouldn't let them abuse you."
The door to the hotel lobby opened, and my father, Thomas Miller, walked in. He was a retired Marine Master Sergeant, a man of few words, with silver hair and a posture as straight as an arrow. Behind him was Colonel Walker.
"Morning, kids," my dad said, pulling up a chair. He looked at Matthew. "Son, I heard what you did yesterday. Standing up to your old man like that. Takes guts. You’re alright in my book."
Matthew blinked, clearly touched by my father’s approval. "Thank you, sir. I just did what was right."
"Now, let's talk strategy," Colonel Walker said, laying a folder on the table. "Arthur Hawthorne thinks he runs this town. He’s already trying to pull strings to get Vivian out on low bail and have the charges reduced to misdemeanor property damage. But he forgot one thing: the venue manager is a former Marine, too. He’s handed over all the high-definition security footage directly to the state police, bypassing the local precinct Arthur influences."
"What’s on the footage?" I asked.
"Everything," Colonel Walker smiled grimly. "It shows Vivian entering the room with a canister of lighter fluid she hid in her designer purse. This wasn't a crime of impulse, Sarah. She planned this. She brought accelerant to make sure that dress burned fast and completely."
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My stomach turned. She had wanted to destroy me completely, to humiliate me so deeply that I would run away crying and leave her precious son behind.
"But that's not all," my dad added, his eyes hardening. "We did some digging into the Hawthorne family foundation. Arthur has been using veterans' charities as a tax shelter for years, pocketing donations meant for wounded soldiers. If they want a fight, we’re not just going to defend ourselves. We’re going to take down their entire empire."
