Chapter 2 - The Audit of Betrayal
Forty-eight hours later, I was lying in a private room on the fourth floor of St. Catherine’s. My left wrist was encased in a heavy cast, three of my left ribs were fractured, and a severe concussion left me dizzy whenever I turned my head too quickly.
The door opened, and a woman in a sharp navy-blue suit walked in, carrying a heavy leather briefcase. She had sharp gray eyes and a posture that radiated absolute competence.
"Claire Morgan?" she asked.
"Yes," I murmured, adjusting my pillows with my good right arm.
"I’m Victoria Vance," she said, pulling a chair beside my bed and setting her briefcase down. "Head Nurse Denise Walker called me. I’m a senior partner at Vance & Sterling Legal. I specialize in forensic financial crimes and personal injury litigation. Denise told me what happened in that stairwell."
"I can't afford a high-priced attorney, Ms. Vance," I admitted, looking down at my blanket. "I work as a freelance graphic designer. My savings were drained two years ago when..." I trailed off, the humiliation burning in my chest.
"When your parents convinced you that you owed them for your college tuition?" Victoria asked smoothly, pulling out a thick folder from her bag.
I blinked, startled. "How did you know that?"
"Because while you were in surgery resetting your radius bone, the Pittsburgh Police Department executed a search warrant on the folder your brother handed you before he pushed you," Victoria explained. She opened the folder, spreading several documents across my tray table. "Claire, your brother didn't just try to force you to sign a fake debt agreement. He has been systematically stealing your identity for six years."
My breath caught in my throat. "What?"
"Julian opened four separate commercial credit lines and two mortgage refinances using your credit history and a forged power of attorney," Victoria said, pointing her silver pen at several signatures at the bottom of the bank forms. "He used your name to secure $182,000 for his failing restaurant, The Copper Bistro. When the bistro went under, he used your social security number to take out an emergency small-business loan."
"And my parents?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Did they know?"
Victoria’s eyes softened with genuine pity. "Your father didn't just know, Claire. He helped him forge the documents. Your father was the notary who stamped the forged power of attorney."
The room seemed to spin. All those years... all those terrible holiday dinners where my parents called me selfish, where they told my aunts and uncles that I was a financial burden, where they forced me to pay for Julian’s expensive dinners because 'he was working so hard to build his empire'... it was all a coordinated cover-up. They knew Julian was committing grand larceny in my name, and their plan was to force me to take the legal and financial fall before the banks realized the signatures were fraudulent.
"They didn't just want my inheritance," I realized, tears burning behind my eyes. "They wanted me to take the blame so Julian wouldn't go to prison."
"Exactly," Victoria said, leaning forward and placing a firm, warm hand over my good wrist. "Julian is currently held on $250,000 bail for felony assault and attempted murder. The District Attorney wants to add federal bank fraud charges. But to do that, Claire, we need to file a formal civil lawsuit against your parents and testify against your brother in court."
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"They will destroy me," I whispered. "They will tell everyone I'm a liar."
"They can try," Victoria smiled—a cold, terrifying smile that gave me a sudden, fierce rush of hope. "But they don't have the footage, Claire. And they don't have me."
