Chapter 6 - The Seattle Connection
On Thursday morning, Brooke Miller sat across from me in a quiet corner booth at a private dining club near the financial district.
She looked entirely different from the stressed, tearful woman I had first spoken to on the phone six months ago. She wore a simple, elegant navy dress, her eyes clear and bright, holding a hot cup of tea.
"Arthur’s lawyer reached out to my legal counsel this morning," Brooke said, leaning across the small table. "He offered a full settlement. He's willing to transfer his remaining personal liquid assets to me for child support if I agree to drop the state bigamy charges."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what did you tell him?"
Brooke smiled—a cold, sharp smile that mirrored my own. "I told him my son doesn't want his stolen money. I told him we'd see him in court."
"Good," I said, raising my coffee cup in a quiet toast. "The federal prosecutors are officially filing five counts of wire fraud and grand larceny against him this afternoon. He won't be in a position to negotiate anything for the next ten to fifteen years."
Brooke took a slow sip of her tea, looking at me with deep curiosity. "How are you holding up, Eleanor? Truly. They were your family."
I looked out the high arched windows of the dining club at the busy city below.
"People keep using that word," I reflected quietly. "'Family.' As if sharing blood gives someone a license to steal your life work, forge your name, and discard you the moment you become inconvenient."
"My father was the same way," Brooke murmured softly. "Men like Arthur and your father don't see people. They see assets to be managed or liabilities to be written off."
"Well," I said, setting my cup down with a crisp clink, "they just discovered that I'm the biggest liability they ever created."
My phone chimed on the table. It was a text message from Arthur Harrison:
The forensic audit on your mother’s diamond collection is complete. The insurance fraud investigation has been formally opened by the state attorney.
I passed the screen across the table to Brooke.
Brooke read the text, letting out a soft, incredulous laugh. "She really insured a fake diamond necklace for three million dollars?"
"My father bought her a high-grade synthetic replica five years ago to cover his gambling debts in Macau," I explained. "Then they took out a private insurance policy on the original appraisal value, intending to report it 'stolen' during the wedding chaos."
May you like
Brooke shook her head in utter amazement. "Your family isn't just corrupt, Eleanor. They're chaotic."
"They were chaotic because they believed they were untouchable," I replied, standing up from the booth. "Now, let’s go show them what happens when the touch arrives."
