Chapter 6 - The Rats in the Trap
Gertrude and Prudence did not go quietly into the night.
They had moved into a cramped, roach-infested two-bedroom apartment on the bad side of town, living off the rapidly dwindling scraps of cash they had managed to hide before I froze the accounts.
Without the illusion of my wealth, Prudence’s wealthy "fiancé"—a trust fund brat who thought he was marrying into a dynasty—dumped her unceremoniously via a text message. Gertrude had been exiled from her country club, her former friends treating her like a leper the moment the rumors of her eviction spread.
Desperation breeds stupidity.
Six months after the eviction, I received an alert from my credit monitoring service. Someone was attempting to take out a $150,000 second mortgage on the mansion using my social security number and forged documents.
I smiled. I had been waiting for this.
I didn't call the bank to cancel it. Instead, I called the fraud division of the FBI and my lawyer. We set a trap.
We allowed the paperwork to process just enough to trigger a mandatory in-person signing at the bank. My mother, believing her forged power of attorney documents were foolproof, walked right into the ambush.
I was sitting in the manager's office when the door opened. Gertrude strode in, wearing a cheap knock-off designer coat, trying to maintain an air of aristocratic dignity. Prudence was right behind her.
They froze the second they saw me sitting in the leather chair, casually sipping a cup of coffee.
Standing against the wall were two federal agents.
"Hello, Mother," I said calmly. "Buying another Mercedes?"
Gertrude's face turned completely ashen. She tried to turn and run, but one of the agents stepped forward, blocking the door.
"Gertrude Vance?" the agent asked, his voice devoid of emotion. "You are under arrest for identity theft, wire fraud, and attempted bank fraud. You have the right to remain silent."
As the agent slapped the cold steel handcuffs onto my mother's wrists, Prudence began to hyperventilate.
"I didn't do it!" Prudence screamed, backing into the corner. "It was her! She made me forge the signatures! I'm the victim here!"
My mother whipped her head around, glaring at her daughter with pure venom. "You ungrateful little brat! You were the one who wanted the money to keep up appearances!"
I stood up and walked toward them. They both fell silent, staring at me with a mixture of terror and pathetic desperation.
May you like
"You threw my wife and child into the dirt," I said, my voice low and hard. "You thought there would be no consequences. You thought I would just keep working in the desert, blindly funding your vanity. Enjoy your new home, Mother. I hear the state penitentiary doesn't serve roasted chicken."
I walked out of the bank, the sound of their screaming and crying fading behind the heavy glass doors. It was the most beautiful music I had ever heard.
