Chapter 6 - The Rat in the Corner
Stripped of their stolen funds, blocked from the estate, and facing impending criminal indictments, the Voss family did what cornered rats always do.
They lashed out.
On Thursday morning, six days after my surgery, a tabloid news website published a sensationalized article with the headline:
LOCAL DESIGNER ACCUSED OF ABANDONING SICK HUSBAND AFTER HEART SURGERY DRAMA.
The article contained quotes from an "anonymous family source"—obviously Lorraine—claiming that I had suffered a psychotic break following my operation, had framed my husband for financial theft, and was holding his personal belongings hostage in the estate.
Attached to the article was a photo of me walking out of the hospital with Rosalind, framed to look as though I had fled medical care.
"They're trying to control the public narrative," Marcus said, showing me the article on his phone as he sat by my bedside. "They think if they generate enough social media noise, they can pressure you into a quiet financial settlement."
"Let them talk," I said, looking out the window at the sunny garden. "A lie travels fast, Marcus, but court documents travel faster."
At 11:00 AM, my phone chimed. It was an incoming video call from an unknown number.
I answered it, setting the phone on my tray table.
Corbin’s face filled the screen. He was sitting in the cramped kitchen of his mother’s two-bedroom apartment. Behind him, I could hear Lorraine screaming into her cell phone at a defense lawyer, and Sable weeping loudly in the background.
Corbin looked broken. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, his designer shirt was wrinkled, and his hands were shaking.
"Marlo..." Corbin whispered, his voice cracking. "Please. Don't do this."
"Don't do what, Corbin?" I asked calmly.
"Mom’s accounts are locked! Sable’s spa was shut down by sheriff’s deputies an hour ago! The bank sent a repossession notice for my car!" Corbin pleaded, pressing his palms together. "Marlo, we have no money for food! We can't even pay the retainer for our criminal lawyer!"
"You had three hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars of my money three days ago," I reminded him coldly. "Where did it go?"
"We paid off Sable's back taxes! We paid Highline!" Corbin cried out, tears spilling down his face. "Marlo, I made a mistake! I panicked! Mom said you weren't going to make it out of surgery! She said the surgeon looked worried in the waiting room, and that if we didn't move the money immediately, the probate courts would freeze everything for years!"
"The surgeon never talked to your mother, Corbin," I revealed, my voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "Because your mother wasn't at the hospital during my surgery. She was at a brunch eating quiche."
Corbin blinked, stunned. "What?"
"She lied to you, Corbin," I continued ruthlessly. "She told you I was dying so you would give her my passwords. She used you as her getaway driver, and now that the police are involved, she’s going to let you take the fall for grand larceny."
Behind Corbin, the door opened. Lorraine marched into the kitchen frame, snatching the phone from her son’s hands.
Her face filled the screen, twisted with pure rage.
"Listen to me, you ungrateful little cripple!" Lorraine spat at the camera. "You think you’ve won?! We have Corbin’s signature on every document! If he goes down for fraud, he’s taking your company’s reputation with him! No client in Seattle will ever hire Ashgrove Design Studio again after we expose your family's dirty laundry!"
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"My company's reputation is built on thirty years of honest work, Lorraine," I said, looking straight into her hateful eyes. "Yours is built on stolen champagne and unpaid debts. I'll see you in court on Monday."
I tapped the screen, disconnecting the call.
