Chapter 7 - The Hidden Account
"Where is the money, Sarah?" I repeated, my voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl.
Sarah swallowed hard, pulling her hands back from my wheelchair as if the metal were white-hot. "I... I spent it, Elena. On inventory, on rent, on marketing—"
"Liar," I said cleanly.
I reached for the plastic call button hanging near my bed and pressed it twice, summoning the floor duty officer.
"Elena, what are you doing?!" Sarah panicked, scrambling to her feet.
"I’m giving you five seconds to tell me the truth before I have military police escort you out of this building and execute the arrest warrant," I said.
Sarah’s face went chalk-white. "Okay! Okay! Fine! I didn't spend all of it!"
"Where is it?"
"It’s in an offshore investment trust," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room's air conditioner. "Dad... Dad helped me set it up through an online broker in the Cayman Islands. We put hundred and eighty thousand of it into a crypto-currency yield farm three years ago."
I stared at her, genuinely stunned by the sheer depth of their deceit.
"Dad helped you?" I asked. "Dad set up the offshore account?"
"He said... he said if we left it in a standard bank, your accountants might spot it during an annual tax audit," Sarah sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "He said if we put it in the Cayman trust, it would grow, and we could pay back the mortgage line secretly before you ever came home from Europe!"
"And did it grow?"
Sarah let out a bitter, choked laugh. "No! The broker platform crashed last year! The funds are locked in a receivership court! We can’t withdraw a single dollar! We lost everything, Elena! Every single cent is gone!"
The door to my hospital room popped open, and two tall, armed Army Military Police officers stepped into the room, their eyes scanning the space immediately.
"Colonel Carter?" the senior sergeant asked, looking at Sarah’s hysterical state. "Is there a problem here, ma'am?"
I looked at Sarah, who was trembling, her eyes wide with sheer terror as she looked at the armed guards standing beside my bed.
For a long moment, the room hung in a delicate, razor-thin balance. I could have given the order right then, had her arrested on the spot, and watched her be led out in handcuffs.
"Sergeant," I said smoothly, keeping my eyes fixed on my sister. "This civilian entered my room without authorization. Please escort her off the hospital grounds and ensure she does not return."
"Understood, ma'am," the sergeant said, stepping forward and placing a firm hand on Sarah’s arm. "Ma'am, step this way, please."
Sarah didn't fight. She looked back at me once as she was led toward the door, her eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic pleading.
"Elena... please..." she whispered.
"You have seven days to deliver the Cayman trust documents to Daniel Vance, Sarah," I said, my voice cold as arctic ice. "If those papers aren't on his desk by next Friday, the federal indictment goes forward. Now get out."
The door closed behind them, leaving me alone in the quiet room once again.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, taking a long, deep breath. My father hadn't just been a passive witness to a desperate sister's mistake. He had been the architect of a systematic, fraudulent scheme to siphon off my corporate assets and hide them in offshore accounts.
They hadn't just taken my generosity for granted. They had actively conspired against me.
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I picked up my phone and dialed Daniel.
"Daniel," I said when he answered. "Get your forensic team ready. We’re going after an offshore trust in the Caymans—and my father is the primary trustee."
