Chapter 7 - The Confrontation at Bel-Air
The sun was just beginning to peek over the eastern horizon, painting the sky in pale shades of orange and bruised purple, when I pulled my car up to my parents' estate in Bel-Air.
The iron gates were open. Two news vans were already parked down the street—rumors of a high-profile arrest in Malibu were already spreading through elite legal circles like wildfire.
I stepped out of my car, still wearing my sauce-stained blouse under my coat, holding a thick black binder under my arm.
Inside the Bel-Air mansion, the atmosphere felt like a funeral home.
My mother was sitting on the velvet couch in the main drawing room, weeping hysterically into a silk handkerchief, while her personal doctor offered her a glass of water and a sedative.
My father stood by the grand marble fireplace, a half-empty glass of scotch in his trembling hand, staring into the cold ashes.
When the front door clicked open and I walked in, my father turned around instantly.
His face aged ten years overnight. Dark circles hung under his eyes, his designer suit was wrinkled, and his posture was broken.
"Victoria," he gasped, taking a step toward me. "Thank God... Victoria, you have to fix this."
I stopped in the middle of the room, looking at him with utter detachment. "Fix what, Dad?"
"The police!" my mother sobbed from the couch, dropping her handkerchief. "They took Madison to the county jail! They won't let her post bail! Victoria, how could you call the police on your own sister?!"
"She broke into my house with an armed criminal, Mom," I said, my voice steady and unwavering. "She tried to steal fifteen million dollars in bearer bonds from Grandmother's safe."
"She's your blood!" my mother shrieked, standing up with wild eyes. "She made a mistake! She was desperate!"
"Desperate for what?" I spat back, turning my glare onto my father. "Tell her, Dad. Tell Mom why Madison was so desperate to get into that safe."
My father winced, his face flushing dark red. He looked away, staring down at his glass of scotch. "Victoria... please. Let's talk about this in private."
"No," I said, opening the black binder I had brought from Miller's office and throwing it onto the glass coffee table in front of my mother. "Let's talk about it right here."
My mother frowned, picking up the top document with shaking hands. "What is this?"
"Those are the internal audit reports from Vance Financial," I explained coldly. "For the past three years, Dad has been gambling on offshore hedge funds. He lost forty million dollars of the firm's primary client capital."
My mother froze. She looked at my father, her mouth opening in disbelief. "Richard... what is she talking about?"
My father didn't answer. He downed the rest of his scotch in one long gulp, his hand trembling so violently the ice clinked against the crystal glass.
"He was going to be bankrupt by the end of this month," I continued, pointing at the ledger sheets. "The federal auditors were stepping in on Friday. So Dad came up with a plan. He told Madison that if she could retrieve Grandmother's unscripted bearer bonds from Villa Claire, he would use them to cover the deficit and make her a full partner in the firm."
"You..." my mother whispered, staring at my father as if he were a complete stranger. "You used our daughter to steal from Victoria?"
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"I didn't have a choice!" my father suddenly roared, slamming his empty glass onto the mantelpiece so hard it shattered into a dozen pieces. "The firm was going under! The family name would have been dragged through the dirt! Everything I built... everything my father built... gone!"
"Grandmother knew," I said softly, the realization finally clicking into place like the last piece of a tragic puzzle. "That's why she left Villa Claire entirely to me in her will. She didn't leave it to me because I was her favorite. She left it to me because she knew you were corrupt, Dad. She knew you would strip her legacy bare to cover your own failures."
