Chapter 4 - The Trust Fund
The first thing I did was hire a lawyer.
Her name was Patricia Okonkwo, and she specialized in financial fraud and family law. She had a reputation for being ruthless, and she didn't like bullies.
I told her everything. The birthday dinner. The stolen college fund. The shell company. The gambling debts.
She listened without interrupting, taking notes on a yellow legal pad.
When I finished, she set down her pen and looked at me.
"You have a strong case," she said. "But we need to be strategic. If we go after your brother for fraud, your parents will be implicated. Are you prepared for that?"
"Yes."
"And if your parents try to retaliate? If they cut you off? If they turn the rest of your family against you?"
I thought about the thirty-two relatives at the birthday dinner. The ones who had watched my father humiliate me. The ones who had said nothing.
"I don't care," I said. "They're not my family anymore."
Patricia nodded. "Then here's what we do. First, we freeze the B&J Holdings account. We can do that by filing a complaint with the bank and providing evidence of fraud. Second, we file a civil suit against your parents and brother for theft. Third, we report the money laundering to the FBI."
"The FBI?"
"Your brother and parents have committed federal crimes. If we report them, they'll be investigated. And if they're convicted, they'll go to prison."
I felt a knot in my stomach. "Prison."
"I know it's hard." Patricia's voice was gentle. "But they stole from you. They committed crimes. And they've been doing it for years."
I nodded. "Do it."
Patricia picked up her phone and made three calls. The first was to the bank, instructing them to freeze the B&J Holdings account. The second was to the FBI, reporting the money laundering. The third was to a process server, ordering him to deliver legal documents to my parents and brother.
Within an hour, the wheels were in motion.
I went back to Grandpa's house and waited.
The first call came at 2 p.m. It was my mother.
"What have you done?" she screamed. "The bank just called. They said our account is frozen. Your father is furious."
"Good," I said. "He should be."
"You ungrateful little brat. After everything we've done for you—"
"You stole from me, Mom. You stole my college fund. You committed a crime. And now you're going to pay for it."
"You can't do this. We're your parents."
"You stopped being my parents the moment you chose Brandon over me."
I hung up.
The second call came at 4 p.m. It was my father.
"You're making a mistake," he said. His voice was calm, but I could hear the anger underneath. "You think you can destroy this family? You think you can destroy me?"
"I don't think," I said. "I know."
"You'll regret this."
"No. I won't."
I hung up again.
The third call came at 6 p.m. It was Brandon.
"You stupid bitch," he spat. "You think you're so smart? You think you can take me down?"
"I already have," I said. "The FBI is investigating you. The bank has frozen your accounts. You're done, Brandon."
Silence.
Then: "What do you want?"
"I want my money back. I want an apology. And I want you out of my life."
"You'll never get an apology."
"Then I'll settle for watching you go to prison."
I hung up for the third time.
Grandpa was sitting in his study when I walked in. He looked up from his book.
"How did it go?"
"About as well as expected."
He nodded. "They'll try to fight back. They'll hire lawyers. They'll try to discredit you."
"I know."
"But you're ready."
May you like
"I'm ready."
Grandpa smiled. "Good. Because tomorrow, we go on the offensive."
