Chapter 7 - The Auction of Vanities
By mid-afternoon, the grand foyer of the Vance Estate had been converted into a temporary staging area for the liquidation of personal property.
Under the strict terms of the trust recovery protocol, all luxury items purchased using embezzled funds from the Vance Trust were subject to immediate repossession and public auction to reimburse the estate’s corporate creditors.
Beatrice and Lila sat on wooden folding chairs on the front lawn, guarded by two security officers, watching in tearful agony as moving crews carried out their prized possessions.
Racks of designer gowns, glass cases containing diamond necklaces, rare Italian oil paintings, and leather-bound luxury trunks were carried out one by one and cataloged on digital tablets by court-appointed appraisers.
Lila watched as her favorite crocodile-skin handbag was logged into the auction inventory.
“That’s mine!” Lila wailed, trying to stand up, but the security officer gently but firmly gestured for her to sit back down. “Ethan bought that for me!”
“Ethan’s corporate account bought that,” I corrected, walking out onto the porch with a coffee cup in my hand. “And since you used fraudulent authorization to charge it, the bank has seized it as evidence.”
My mother looked up at me, her eyes filled with bitter, venomous resentment. “You think you’re so smart, don't you? You think you’ve won. But your father will get out on bail, Claire! His legal team will tear that trust agreement to shreds!”
As if on cue, Mr. Harlan’s car pulled up the driveway. He stepped out, holding a fresh stack of legal documents hot off the court fax machine.
“I have bad news for your legal defense, Beatrice,” Mr. Harlan said, stepping up to the porch. “The bail hearing for Robert Vance was held two hours ago in Suffolk Superior Court.”
Beatrice straightened up, a sudden spark of hope in her eyes. “Did the judge grant bail?”
“The judge denied bail completely,” Mr. Harlan announced smoothly. “Given the physical evidence, the boutique security footage, the testimony of six independent witnesses, and the fact that Robert attempted to flee the jurisdiction after the incident, he has been remanded to the Plymouth County Correctional Facility until trial.”
Beatrice collapsed back into her wooden chair, her face going completely ghost-white.
“Furthermore,” Mr. Harlan added, turning a page, “the district attorney’s office has expanded the indictment. In addition to felony assault and attempted murder, Robert and Beatrice Vance are now being formally charged with federal grand larceny, tax fraud, and corporate embezzlement.”
Lila let out a pathetic, high-pitched scream, burying her face in her hands.
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I looked down at my mother and sister—the two women who had spent my entire life telling me I was worthless, that I was older, that I was obligated to yield everything I earned to fuel their hollow luxury.
“Your thirty minutes are up, Beatrice,” I said quietly. “Take your suitcases and get off my property.”
