Chapter 6 - The Golden Child's Desperation
On Saturday morning, while Clare and I were at the obstetrician's office watching our baby’s heartbeat flicker on the ultrasound screen, my phone lit up with a notification from my bank.
The fraud department had just blocked an attempted credit card charge of $12,500 at a high-end luxury furniture store downtown.
The card being used? The company umbrella card I had issued to my father five years ago—the one I had formally canceled on Monday evening.
A minute later, my phone rang. It was Tessa.
I waited until we were out in the parking lot before answering. "What do you want, Tessa?"
"You psycho!" Tessa screamed into the receiver, her voice cracking with hysterics. "My card just got declined at the design showroom! I was placing a deposit on a new sofa set for my new apartment!"
I stood by the driver's side door of my car, stunned by the sheer depth of her delusion. "You tried to charge twelve grand to my business credit card for furniture?"
"You owe me!" she yelled. "You're throwing me out of my house! The least you can do is pay for my security deposit and my new furniture! You have three restaurants, Ian! You're loaded! Why are you being so cheap?!"
"Tessa," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "You are thirty-two years old. You have never paid a dime of rent in your life. You have never bought a grocery bag with your own earned money. You tried to commit credit card fraud five minutes ago, which is a federal felony."
"Mom and Dad said I could use the card!" she shrieked.
"Mom and Dad don't own the card, and they don't own the business," I replied. "And speaking of money: my accountants audited that card this week. You and Mom have fraudulently spent sixty-four thousand dollars of my corporate funds over the last three years."
Silence fell over the line. Tessa's aggressive posture suddenly deflated.
"What... what are you talking about?" she stammered, her voice suddenly small.
"I have the itemized receipts, Tessa. The spa trips, your boutique's fake inventory, your personal shopping sprees. My lawyers are drafting the formal police report as we speak. If that $64,000 is not repaid to my company bank account by next Wednesday, I will press formal grand larceny charges against both you and Dad."
"Ian, please!" Tessa began to sob hysterically. "You can't put your own sister in jail! I can't go to prison! I have sensitive skin! Dad will pay it back!"
"Dad doesn't have sixty-four thousand dollars, Tessa. Neither do you," I said coldly. "So I suggest you start packing your bags and liquidating those designer clothes you bought on my dime. You have six days before closing."
I hung up the phone and looked through the windshield at Clare, who was looking at me with gentle, supportive eyes.
May you like
"Everything okay?" she asked softly.
I took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "It's about to be."
